


Ultra Magnus Drabbles

by charivari



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Animated (2007), Transformers: Prime, Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: AU, Accents, Accidental Interface Broadcast, Aftercare, Alternate Lost Light, Amica Endurae, Angst, Annoying Siblings, Awkwardness, BDSM as stress relief, Backrubs, Bad Poetry, Berth buddies, Bodyguard, Bonding, Bottoming from the Top, Brother Feels, Cat nap, Chair Sex, Cock Rings, Collars, Coma, Comfort, Conjunx Endura, Date?, Desk tidy, Detective Whirl, DomSGMini, Dream Sex, Dreams, Dress Up, Drug Withdrawal, Empurata, Energon transfusion, Face Paint, Face-Sitting, Fingering, Fluff, Fluffiness, Foot Fetish, Forniphilia, Gags, Gift Giving, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Hat fetish, Heart-to-Heart, Hobbies, Holoform(s), Hostage Situations, KO being KO, Karada/rope bondage, Lil crooner bot, M/M, Magnus Star, Magpod, Mags puts up with a lot, Mass Displacement, Massage, Mature Roddy, Mech furniture, Medical Experimentation, Megatron gives awkward presents, Meta, Mining AU, Monogamy, Mopey old man Megatron, More subSG Megs, Multiple Penetration, Music, Nightmares, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Overcoming stage fright, Pep Talk, Performance evaluation, Poetry Fail, Polyamory, Possible hints of incest, Prime kink, Punishment, Rahdamus Prime, Referenced Shadowplay, Regret, Relationship Talk, RodMags stupidity, Roddy Megs snark, Roddy and Megs being afts/Poor Mags, Roleplay, SG Dominus, SG Ravage, SG Rewind, SG Roddy likes hats, SG Swerve, Seduction, Self-Reflection, Sex Talk, Sex Toys, Sexy Autobot Code, Sharing a Bed, Shattered Glass, Slight Petplay, Spark Bond, Spoilers for issue 50, Spooning, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Study Date, TFA Minimus, Ten doll, Ten is adorable, Tentacles, Territorial Ravage, Therapy, Threat of Shadowplay, Threesome - M/M/M, Toys, Tyrest being a prude, Uncle Magnus, Vibrators, Vulnerable Roddy, Walk Of Shame, Writer's Block, Xenophilia, Young Minimus feels ;-;, beads, bratty Captains, chair wars, deep and meaningfuls, failed role play, heat - Freeform, improper use of memos, multi-tasking, petnames, phone sex kinda, prewar, reference to whipping/pain play/bdsm, safe bdsm, safeword, sleepover, slip of the tongue, sock, spoilers for issue 43, stolen glasses, subMegs, terms of affection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-04 23:25:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 77
Words: 68,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4156932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charivari/pseuds/charivari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because I can't seem to write anything non-Ultra Magnus or Minimus related at the moment XD</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brother

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Insecuriosity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insecuriosity/gifts).



Minimus notices, each time he goes without the Magnus Armor, Rewind stares at him. 

He waits for the opportunity that Chromedome isn't around (which isn't often, the pair are almost inseparable) and approaches Rewind.

"I'm not him," he says.

Rewind doesn't require a name to understand who he means.

"I know," he answers, "But you look like him."

"We were spark brothers of course there's a resemblance."

Rewind is silent for a moment,

"You said were."

Minimus ex-vents,

"I know you think there's a possibility he's still online. But what if he's not?"

"That's what I need to find out," Rewind insists, "He's your brother aren't you curious what happened to him?"

"What if knowing is worse than not knowing?" Minimus asks.

"Nothing is worse than not knowing," Rewind is adamant.

Minimus touches his facial insignia - the same insignia he and Dominus share.

"And what if he is alive?" he says, "What then? Will you... pick up where you left off?"

"You mean leave Chromedome for Dominus?" Rewind says quietly, "Honestly? I don't know. Perhaps I'll never know until I see Dominus again."

Minimus is silent. He regrets initiating this conversation. 

"Please try to keep the staring to a minimum," he told Rewind, "I attract enough looks from the rest of the crew."

He turns to leave.

"I'm sorry I stare," Rewind's voice causes him to halt, "It's just - seeing you, it's like having a little piece of him here."

Minimus doesn't turn,

"I'm not my brother Rewind," he says softly, "I never was."


	2. Keeping the Peace

"I just think," Ultra Magnus said a mite awkwardly, "If you were to be a little more... understanding of Rodimus' style of command, both of you might be able to work together more... cohesively."

"Understanding?" Megatron said disdainfully, "Rodimus' style of command is the second most inept I've ever encountered. Are you suggesting I tolerate the sulking, the gimmickry, the constant attempts to boot his own ego, for the the simple sake of... what did you call it, cohesion?" 

Ultra Magnus tented his fingers together,

"Rodimus has his flaws," he admitted, "But he is still your co-Captain. It reflects badly on the crew to witness you squabbling in plain sight."

"Are you criticizing your superior Ultra Magnus," Megatron says in a hard tone.

"No Sir," Ultra Magnus tapped his fingers together, "Well, not entirely, I'm merely offering suggestion and feedback."

"And why did you not take such concerns to Rodimus?"

"I... tried."

"Let me guess, he didn't listen?" Megatron ex-vented sharply, "You see that's the problem. He doesn't listen. Unless your opinions run in tandem with his own. Other than that, he isn't interested. Are you really suggesting I simply resign myself to his way of thinking?"

"I didn't say resign," Ultra Magnus said quietly, "I said understand. If you try to understand Rodimus rather than openly challenge him, you may be able to find a way to..."

"Control..?" 

"Persuade him to your way of thinking."

"And has that worked for you so far?" Megatron asked pointedly.

Ultra Magnus frowned,

"You may have more success than me."

"Ultra Magnus while I admire your... concern," Megatron told the TIC, "You do realize this isn't your problem. It's for Rodimus and myself to sort out our differences."

"Understood," Ultra Magnus said reluctantly.

"Oh and Magnus?" Megatron said as the other mech was preparing to leave.

"Yes?"

Ultra Magnus turned to see Megatron's smirk.

"I want you to know, the fact Rodimus and I both engage you in interface is not a contributing factor to our hostility. In fact it's one thing we actually agree on."

"Agree?" 

Megatron's smirk widened.

"For someone so uptight, you're a terrific frag."

As flattering as that was, it wasn't quite the commonality Ultra Magnus wanted them to share.

"Does that mean I'm not dismissed?" he asked.

"Precisely." 

Ultra Magnus trudged back towards the co-Captain. His meeting with Rodimus had ended much the same way.

The things he did to keep the peace.


	3. Writer's Block

Minimus preferred to work on his poetry in Ten's makeshift quarters. There was no fear of anyone bursting in unannounced like they did his office or hab suite (namely Rodimus, primarily Rodimus). Minimus was free to vent his frustrations aloud, which he did, often, because poetry infinitely more difficult than report writing.

"What's a word that rhymes with inadequate?"

Ten looked up from the model he was making. 

"Ten?" he offered.

Minimus ex-vented. He deleted the last line on his datapad. The line that had taken him an hour to come up with.

"Why I am even bothering?" 

He slumped over the datapad, face buried his arms.

He might have gone to Megatron for advice. But that would mean admitting to Megatron he was actually attempting poetry. 'Attempting' being the operative word. 'Failing' would be another. 

He just couldn't express himself the way he wanted to.

"Ten," Minimus felt a large hand on his back, "Ten?"

Minimus lifted his face and looked over his shoulder,

"Sorry," he said, noting the concern on Ten's face, "I didn't mean upset you."

"Ten," the Legislator patted Minimus' back gently.

It was actually quite soothing. But Minimus hardly deserved comforting.

"Thank you Ten," he said irregardless, "Would you like to do a simulation?"

It seemed like a good idea to give the poetry a break. Ten was enthusiastic. He always enjoyed running simulations with the models.

"It's settled then."

Minimus pushed his datapad aside for now and joined Ten over by the display cases. 

"Scenario. Whirl has started a fire on B Deck..."


	4. The Perils of Hugging a.k.a. Sexy Autobot Code

It was his own fault. Ultra Magnus had hugged Thunder Clash. That had been bad enough. 

He possibly should have seen the signs when Thunder Clash suggested they retire to Magnus' quarters to discuss his article in greater length. 

But Magnus had been excited about the prospect of discussing the Autobot Code with a willing participant. So few people appreciated the subtleties of the language, the metaphors that could be found in the typography.

"Remarkable," Thunder Clash said after Magnus made an comparison between the bold lettering used for the section headers and the punctuality of the actions they described. 

Magnus wasn't sure if he meant the statement or Magnus or both.

To be fair he was almost certain Thunder Clash leaned in first.

The problem was Magnus leaning in as well.

That's how they ended up kissing. 

Kissing! 

Magnus should have called things off right then and there but he hadn't.

Thunder Clash had ended up on his knees. 

Magnus had retracted his panel.

Thunder Clash's mouth descended around his spike.

"Keep going," he murmured against the underside, "If you would be kind, Ultra Magnus."

So polite. Even when he was in such a scandalous position between Magnus' legs.

"Oh," Magnus' voice quivered from Thunder Clash's attentions, "Uh... there is a-a ahh - interesting use of apostrophe in Section two sixteen, Sub-Section nine - uhh - nineteen, regarding the..."

He managed to keep babbling until he overloaded.

"Well that was certainly enlightening," Thunder Clash said once he had cleaned Magnus' transfluid - his transfluid! - from his lips, "And may I say you performed quite admirably as an orator under duress."

Magnus didn't speak. It was as though overload had permanently glitched his vocaliser. He nodded feebly.

"It's alright," Thunder Clash smiled, "I have that effect on some people. Would it remiss of me though, to put forward my own thoughts, pale as they are in comparison to yours?"

With great difficulty Magnus reset his vocaliser,

"Please."

It was the polite thing to do - even though they had well crossed the boundaries of impropriety.

This time it was Thunder Clash in his valve, fragging him into another climax - all the while calmly speaking his views on the Code's use of Italics. 

He was an even better orator under duress than Magnus. He didn't stumble once. In fact he was so exercised in self-control, he actually timed his overload to punctuate his conclusion. 

His secondary overload left Magnus a semi-conscious wreck. He remained motionless, fluid still leaking from his valve as Thunder Clash encircled him a friendly hug. 

Hugging. The thing that had started all this.

"I can't thank you enough Ultra Magnus. It was truly a pleasure to such an engaging discussion with such a like-minded mech."

"Yes," Magnus managed and promptly descended into recharge.

In hindsight he didn't know what was worse. 

The fact he had succumbed to physical desires... 

The fact Rodimus glared at him in the hallway with judgement in his optics...

The fact Ratchet passed him in the hallway and chuckled the name "Thunders"...

Or the fact he wouldn't be able to look at the Autobot Code without imagining that particular night of passion.

Yes, definitely, the last one.


	5. Glasses

"I confiscated these from Whirl."

Ultra Magnus held out the glasses to Rung.

"Oh thank you," the psychiatrist smiled, "I only said he could try them on. I didn't expect him to run off with them. In hindsight I probably should have."

"Why did you not report the theft?" Ultra Magnus said sternly.

"I knew he would return them sooner or later," Rung replied, "It's a novelty for a lot of them. Trying on my glasses."

Magnus watched as Rung gave them a polish.

"You still should have followed protocol," he told the orange mech.

"My apologies," Rung said, then added, "Would you like to try them on?"

"No thank you," Ultra Magnus said abruptly, "I fail to see the novelty in trying on optical aides prescribed to another mech. In fact it presents a serious hazard - what if a mech happened to trip and fall as a result of being visually impaired by your glasses?"

"I do see your point," Rung said with emphasis on the word 'see'.

Magnus failed to recognize the pun.

"It's no smiling matter Rung," he said, "In future I would ask you not to lend your glasses to anyone."

"Understood," Rung placed the glasses back over his optics, "At least take an energon treat before you go."

He bought out the dispenser he always carried with him. Magnus shook his helm,

"I don't go in for sweets."

"What else can I offer you then," Rung asked, "As a token of my appreciation."

Magnus seemed taken aback,

"I don't require payment," he said, "I was doing my duty."

Rung put away his dispenser with a slight smile,

"I would have thought a Duly-Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord would have more pressing matters to attend to than my lost glasses."

"You didn't lose them. They were stolen," Magnus pointed out, "I'm surprised you are unfamiliar with the laws against theft clearly outlined in the Autobot Code."

Rung continued to smile, 

"Perhaps I'm in need of some revision," he said, "Do you think you could offer some assistance?"

"Of course," Magnus said with rare enthusiasm. It wasn't often he was approached by a willing student. "I am free at 1600. Does that suit?"

Rung nodded,

"It's a date."

A stricken look crossed Magnus' face.

"A what?"

"Pardon me," Rung said, "A study date."

Magnus eyed him uncertainly for a moment.

"Yes," he said, not without some awkwardness, "1600. My office. Please be prompt."


	6. Multi-Tasking

"I'm saying you have no clear system for awarding them," Megatron told Rodimus, "You gave Magnus one for 'neatest handwriting', no offence Magnus but neat handwriting isn't exactly rewarding bravery in a life or death situation."

Under normal circumstances Magnus would have made a polite rebuttal. But given he was currently wedged between both Megatron and Rodimus in a rather compromising situation, the only sound he made was a cross between a whine and a whimper.

Megatron was pressed against his back, arms around his waist, fingers curled around his spike. Rodimus was kneeling in front of him, knuckle-deep in his valve, glaring up at Megatron,

"I didn't see you refusing when I gave you yours."

"I was mostly stunned by your audacity." 

Megatron continued to pump Magnus' spike. Magnus arched back against Megatron's chestplate, hands uselessly clenching the air above Rodimus' helm. 

"Well you can always give it back," Rodimus hissed, still working his fingers inside Magnus' valve, "You know what I think, you're jealous that people don't want a medal with your face."

Megatron snorted, thumbing the smear of transfluid leaking from the tip of Magnus' spike. Magnus bucked helplessly, cry muffled by Megatron's retort to Rodimus.

"Why would I want to hand out medals with my face - it's the epitome of unchecked egomania."

"Egomania?" Rodimus scissored his fingers inside Magnus' valve and eliciting a groan, "Which one of us was the power-hungry despot?"

"Which one of us gave said despot a medal for 'abandoning his evil ways'?"

Megatron threaded Magnus' spike in rhythm with his speech. He shuddered between the two co-Captains. Rodimus, who had lowered his helm to lave his tongue against Magnus' anterior node, glanced back up again. 

"I was trying to nice," he growled at Megatron.

"Which proves my point. You hand them out willy nilly because you feel like it."

Rodimus tilted his head to one side, fingers trawling over Magnus' nodes. 

"Did you just say willy nilly?" he said over the strain of Magnus' vocaliser.

"So now you're ridiculing my phrasing?" 

Charge was thrumming through Magnus' frame. He was going to overload soon - to the sound of the co-Captains squabbling.

"Please," he managed in a static-drenched voice, "S-stop ah-ah-arguing."

"Shh Mags," Rodimus actually smiled up at him, "We're multi-tasking."

"Aren't you proud of us?" Megatron's purring voice was heavy in his audials.

Magnus answered by overloading.


	7. The Talk

"This," Tyrest pointed at the image frozen on the screen, "Under no circumstances do this."

Minimus studied the image. It was the previous Ultra Magnus - Datum - at the Battle of Hell's Point. Minimus hadn't been aware of any surveillance bots being present at the battle. But he was already well aware of Datum's fate.

"Die?" he answered Tyrest uneasily.

Tyrest gave him a frustrated look,

"No," he said, "I mean, attempt not to die as much as possible. But in some situations it can't be helped."

He zoomed in on Ultra Magnus' face,

"But this," he tapped the screen with a finger, "Smirking. Don't do that."

"Oh," Minimus said with understanding, "Yes sir."

He wasn't the smiling type. Dominus used to push up the corners of his mouth with his fingers. But that was forced smiling and it didn't count. Minimus had ordered Rewind to delete the footage the one time Dominus had done it in front of the archivist.

He probably hadn't. Rewind had always been as infuriating as his brother. 

"I'm serious Minimus," Tyrest's voice bought him back to the present, "Datum undid all his fine work smiling like that."

He shook his helm with distaste,

"Disgraceful. Now that smile is legendary, forever tainting the Magnus persona. I expect better from you Minimus."

"Yes sir," Minimus promised.

"And no interfacing," Tyrest said.

The order took Minimus by surprise.

"No what?"

"Interfacing," Tyrest's lip curled at the very word, "The Magnus Armor still has it's interface systems. Primarily to avoid questions in the event a medic is required to do a full medical exam. But that doesn't mean the systems are at your disposable."

"Frankly Sir," Minimus said, rather embarrassed by this topic, "You don't need to worry about that kind of behavior from me."

He had never been interested in that sort of thing. His own seal was still intact. 

Tyrest gave a long suffering ex-vent,

"Minimus, you might be surprised but Magnus is considered attractive to some. He holds a sort of allure. The original Magnus, though a sterling example of duty and order, engaged in interface. There are are no records to substantiate this. But his seal was broken at the time of his demise."

Orion Pax, Minimus wondered, then reprimanded himself. He shouldn't be contemplating the original Magnus' conquests. 

"Even so," Tyrest continued, "I gave your predecessors the benefit of a doubt, expecting them to abstain from such activity. Unfortunately on a few occasions they ended up disappointing me. I won't go into detail. Thank Primus they went about it more discreetly than Datum's public smirking."

The Chief Justice rubbed his temples,

"Still, this behavior is not to be tolerated. Magnus is an immortal figure of the law, not a... a... notorious piece of shareware. Do you understand me Minimus Ambus?"

"Understood sir."

It had been easy for Minimus to say it then. 

Infinitely more difficult the first time Rodimus had enveloped him in a drunk hug.

The first time he had crawled onto his lap in order to see something on the console.

The first time Rodimus had crept into his hab suite while Magnus was recharging.

Magnus had thought he was an intruder and almost thrown him through a wall.

Rodimus had laughed it off,

"You like it rough Mags?"

The first time Rodimus clearly referred to interface, 

"C'mon Mags you know you want this."

And each rejection made Rodimus more desperate,

"Mags it's just one little frag."

And then with his hands on Magnus' desk, presenting himself, lubricant trickling down his thigh.

"Please," a whisper, "I want you so bad it hurts."

And Minimus had succumbed. Because neither he or Tyrest had accounted for the fact his commanding officer would ever be someone quite like Rodimus. 

Smiling in order to crush Nanocons turned out to be the least of his worries.


	8. Punishment

"That's it," Rodimus breathes, "Punish me. I'm a bad, bad Captain for not doing my reports."

Ultra Magnus adds another digit to Rodimus' sopping valve - all the while knowing what he's doing is very wrong.

It's not just the flagrant misuse of everything he stands for.

It's the fact that he enjoys far too much to stop.

~~

"Punish me!" Rodimus shouts, "I'm a bad Captain. I've made horrible choices. People have died. I've probably broken dozens of regulations."

57\. Ultra Magnus has kept count. But he remains silent.

It spirals Rodimus into an even greater frenzy,

"Punish me!" he strikes out at Magnus, "PUNISH ME!"

He bashes his fists on his chestplate. 

58\. Unprovoked physical assault on a subordinate.

Magnus grabs Rodimus' hands,

"I'm not going to punish you," he tells him.

Rodimus buries his face against his plating. He can hear him sobbing. Magnus draws his arms around him.

Tyrest would call him weak. 

But Minimus knows there's no greater punishment than the guilt Rodimus feels inside his spark.


	9. Therapy (Post-Tyrest)

"Rung, can I speak with you?"

"Of course Ultra Magnus," the psychiatrist gestured for him to sit.

Ultra Magnus resisted. Sitting would make him feel like a patient. He didn't want to feel like a patient.

"I'll stand if it's all the same to you."

"Whatever makes you comfortable," Rung replied, "How can I help you?"

Ultra Magnus noticed one of Rung's models was positioned at a slight angle. He moved to correct it. He turned back to Rung, waiting with a patient smile.

"I trust whatever I am about to say will remain strictly confidential."

"Of course," Rung said.

Ultra Magnus had no reason to doubt him. Rung had trouble keeping his badge on straight. But in regards to his work he was a consummate professional.

"It's about Rodimus."

He trailed off. Rung gave him a slight nod to continue.

"He's... Been recharging in my quarters."

"I see," Rung said quietly.

"It's nothing improper," Ultra Magnus felt the need to make that very clear, "He comes in and recharges next to me."

"How long has this been happening?" Rung asked.

"Ten off-cycles."

"Did he initiate this or did you?"

"Who do you think?" Ultra Magnus said with a flare of indignation. 

He wasn't the type of mecha who asked others to share his berth. But Rung was still looking at him expectantly. He did an intake and answered more directly.

"Rodimus did."

"And you agreed to the arrangement?" 

"Yes. The first time."

"And not the subsequent times?"

"He showed up, I let him in and that was that. I suppose in a way I agreed non-verbally."

"And why did you consent, verbally or otherwise?" 

"I thought..." Ultra Magnus ex-vented, "I thought it wouldn't do any harm. He has a lot weighing on his processor so..."

"So you felt the need to watch over him?" Rung offered.

"I suppose so."

"And why do you think he came to you in particular?"

Ultra Magnus lifted his shoulders in a shrug,

"Drift is gone. I suppose I'm the default."

"I wouldn't call you the default," Rung said, "There's a reason Rodimus chose you over any other member of the crew."

Magnus was silent. He had no answer. 

"Has he discussed his reasons for recharging with you?" Rung continued.

"No." 

"Have you considered asking him?"

The answer was yes. Magnus thought of asking each time Rodimus curled up on his berth.

"It seems a bit too late now for me to question it," he told Rung.

"Are you afraid of upsetting him?" 

"I... I don't know," Magnus rubbed the back of his helm, "He just seems so... vulnerable at the moment. Last time he asked me to tell him if he was being too clingy."

"And what did you say?"

"I said I would."

"But you feel reluctant to do so?"

Magnus clenched his fingers with a growing sense of frustration.

"If I had an issue with his decisions in the past I told him outright. He usually ignored me but at least I attempted to influence him. But this... this is different."

"Because you're concerned for his emotional state?" Rung said.

Magnus frowned,

"Sometimes he wakes up mid-charge and I can tell from his EM field he's terrified. But he refuses to talk about it. I don't push him. I know I probably should but..."

"You're afraid of him drawing away from you?"

Yes, Magnus thought. 

"I thought you could try to talk to him," he told Rung, "Not about about the recharging situation but in general. Don't tell him I suggested it."

"I can only invite him to attend a session," Rung reminded him, "I can't force him."

"I know," Magnus said, "But at least try."

Rung nodded before leaning forward slightly,

"Rodimus may indeed be experiencing guilt over the decisions he's made since beginning the quest," he said, "But there is also the fact he witnessed what he thought was your death on two separate occasions. His wanting to be close might stem from an anxiety of losing you."

Magnus was silent. He hadn't considered that. Why had he not considered that?

"Thank you for your time," he told Rung.

Rodimus knocked on his door the next off-cycle. 

"Hey berth buddy."

He gave him that slightly strained smile reminiscent of previous off-cycles.

Magnus let him inside, allowed him to get comfortable on berth. 

"Rodimus," he began.

"Yeah?" 

Magnus wasn't even sure how to phrase his reassurance.

"I'm not going anywhere," was the best he could come up with.

It didn't even make sense. Obviously he wasn't going to leave his own quarters. Rodimus looked confused.

"I'm not referring to my current position," he rushed to elaborate, "I mean not go anywhere in regards to..."

"Mags," Rodimus cut in quietly, "I know what you mean."

He reached out and touched Magnus. 

"Thanks."

It was a simple word. But it was all either of them seemed to need. Rodimus fingers tugged gently at Magnus' seams.

"You wanna join me now?" he asked.

Magnus nodded. He had finished all his paperwork while on duty. So there was nothing preventing him from settling in besides Rodimus. 

The Captain shifted closer, snuggling against his chestplate. Magnus looped a protective arm around his frame and offlined his optics.

They both recharged more peacefully than any of the previous off-cycles.


	10. Music

"I really don't see how this necessary," Magnus said.

"It's important for morale," Rodimus explained, "Me taking an interest in the crew's hobbies. Getting to know them better. Blah, blah, blah." 

"You're not doing this to improve your popularity?" 

Rodimus narrowed his optics,

"Have you been talking to Ratchet or Rung?" he scoffed, "Such pessimists. I didn't hear Rung complaining when I helped build one of his stupid models. Until I broke a couple of the pieces that is."

He waved a careless hand,

"Anyway it's your turn," he told Magnus, "So what do you wanna do?"

"Well I..."

"I'll just stop you there," Rodimus interrupted, "It can't be anything work-related. No paperwork, rivet inspections etc. It has to be something you do in your time off."

"But I do do those things in my time off," Magnus protested.

"Come on Mags," Rodimus ex-vented, "You must have a hobby that's non-work related."

"I..." Magnus said hesitantly, "I like music."

"Really?" Rodimus was pleasantly surprised, "Sweet, let's listen to some music."

But as soon as he heard the opening strains of the Empyrean Suite, his enthusiasm fell rapidly.

"Uh, this isn't really the music I had in mind..."

Magnus' hand clamped over his mouth,

"Shhh," he said, "You can't hear any of the subtleties if you talk."

Rodimus' scoff was muffled by Magnus' hand. But in the end he managed to keep quiet, even after Magnus had lowered his hand. He fidgeted though, only half-listening to the music. Magnus on the other hand, sat still and focused throughout the entire recording. 

"Oh thank Primus," Rodimus muttered when it was over.

Magnus frowned,

"You didn't enjoy it?"

"Not really," Rodimus said, adding, at Magnus' look of dismay, "But everyone has different tastes. Why do you like it?"

The question seemed to take Magnus by surprise,

"Well from a technical point of view it's brilliant," he said, "The structure alone is..."

He halted at Rodimus' blatant look of boredom.

"But that's not the only reason I like it," he admitted, "It makes me feel... Well, a lot of things. Sad and joyful and excited. I like that the music allows you to feel whatever you what, without any margin of error or judgement. It's freeing in a way."

He trailed off, looking self-conscious.

"That's pretty deep Mags," Rodimus said, "Considering I only judge music based on how much I shake my aft to it."

"Yes I'm aware."

Magnus had seen Rodimus dancing at Swerve's.

"I used to have a box seat at the Iacon Opera House," he told Rodimus, "There was nothing like hearing the music performed by a live orchestra. But the Opera House was destroyed during the war. Now you can only listen to Empyrean Suite and Ode to Prima via recordings."

He gave a soft ex-vent.

"I've never heard of that second one," Rodimus said.

"It's Eucryphia's lesser known work," Magnus frowned, "Unfortunately the Empyrean Suite is more infamous because of it's affiliation with the Decepticon Justice Division. So few people appreciate it now for the masterpiece it is."

It saddened him. The fact that his most beloved piece of music only inspired discomfort, or in Rodimus' case, disinterest.

"Hey cheer up Mags," Rodimus said, "You can still appreciate it so that's all that matters."

"I suppose," Magnus said, though he couldn't quite shake his current frown.

"You have a recording of... what's it called, Oath to Prima?" Rodimus asked.

"Ode to Prima," Magnus corrected, "Yes."

"Play it."

"You probably wouldn't like it."

"Doesn't matter," Rodimus rested his helm against Magnus' arm, "Play it anyway."


	11. Monogamy

"Why the frown?" Rodimus said as Ultra Magnus entered his hab suite, "Did Whirl steal your desk tidy again? No, wait, if that happened you'd look way more upset. So what gives?"

Magnus hesitated in answering,

"I've noticed..."

"Yeah?" Rodimus prompted impatiently.

Magnus gave a huff at his rudeness. Still he forced out his train of thought.

"Megatron no longer attempts to proposition me."

He had just come from a meeting with the co-Captain. Usually during these encounters Megatron would attempt to maneuver him against a wall.

But lately, after each exchange, Megatron simply dismissed him.

It was perplexing. Magnus wondered if he had done something out of line. But the last time they had interfaced Megatron had seemed pleased.

It didn't help that Rodimus' response was to grin. That knowing grin that made Magnus feel stupid.

"I wouldn't take it personally Big Guy," he said, "Rung's probably wearing him out."

"Rung?" Magnus repeated.

"Yeah," Rodimus said, "Don't tell me you didn't know."

"I did," Magnus admitted, "But I thought..."

He trailed off. It sounded naive.

"You thought he would keep on fragging you?" Rodimus guessed correctly.

Magnus debated whether to nod. In the end it didn't matter.

"It happens the way sometimes Mags," Rodimus went on, "Mecha decide to be one partner only. It's nothing against you. Rung must do something special that Megs likes."

He tapped a finger to his chin contemplatively,

"I wonder what it is. I mean Rung never struck me as being especially kinky. But the quiet ones usually surprise you."

Magnus didn't have any interest speculating on Rung's interface preferences. Another thought had consumed his processor.

"Rodimus?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you been with anyone else lately?"

"You mean 'facing wise?" Rodimus said, "Uh, let me think, nope. Bluestreak cornered me the other cycle. I told him I had paperwork to do. Ha, can you believe that?"

"No," Magnus said, in respect to both the paperwork and the fact Rodimus had rebuffed someone.

Wait a minute.

"You turned down interface?"

"Uh huh."

" _You_."

"Yep."

"But you've... interfaced with me."

"Yeah."

"But no one else?"

"Yep."

Magnus felt floored - almost the same as when he had deactivated his F.I.M. chip on Hedonia.

"So," he struggled to express himself, "We are…”

Rodimus smiled,

"For a mech who keeps track of every rivet on this ship, it took you a long time to figure that out."


	12. Sock Saga

Ultra Magnus' Ship: Past

"I bet you're in a good mood."

Ultra Magnus looked down at Verity,

"I don't understand."

Verity smirked,

"I saw Springer and Kup going into your room."

Magnus tensed,

"We were having a meeting," he said quickly.

"A meeting?" Verity quirked a brow, "In your quarters. At an ungodly hour. Uh huh right."

Magnus was silent. He could say interface with Springer and Kup only happened every once in a blue moon. But that in itself was an admission. 

Not that Verity required anymore convincing.

"You don't have to be ashamed," she told him, "It's good to know you're getting some."

"Getting some?" Magnus repeated the phrase uneasily.

"Doing the deed,” Verity said, “Hanky panky, bumping uglies..."

"Please stop," Magnus pleaded.

Verity complied with a smile,

"It's a custom on Earth to hang a sock on your doorknob if you got that kind of company," she said, "Robots don't wear socks so here..."

She held up one of her own,

"I can't accept this," Magnus said.

Verity rolled her eyes,

"Don't worry, it's clean."

Magnus shook his helm,

"The primary use of socks, from my understanding, is to regulate the temperature of a human's feet. I can't deprive you on the basis of..." Magnus faltered in his embarrassment, "The basis of using it as you've described."

Another eye roll,

"Dude it's just one of my spares," Verity said, "Take it."

Magnus could have pointed out his door didn't have a doorknob. Not to mention the whole concept was counterproductive to privacy.

But he didn't want to hurt the girl's feelings.

So he accepted the gift,

"Thank you Verity."

"You're welcome Uncle Magnus."

**

The Lost Light: Present

"What the hell is this?" Rodimus dangled the piece of fabric in the air.

He had been rummaging through Magnus' possessions again. It irked Magnus to no end yet he was utterly incapable of stopping him. 

"One of Verity's socks.”

"Why do you have it?" 

"It was a gift."

"Weird gift," Rodimus said, "It wouldn't even fit one of your fingers."

His faceplates lit up as Magnus explained the Earth custom. He opened the door to the hab suite and deposited the sock on the ground. 

"Why did you do that?" Magnus objected as Rodimus closed the door.

"To let the others know we're fragging."

Magnus frowned,

"It's unlikely anyone on this ship will understand the significance."

On second thought, that was actually a good thing. But Magnus was a stickler for procedure.

"You're supposed to hang the sock on the door, not toss it on the ground."

"Does it really matter?" 

"The hallways are supposed to be clear of any obstructions.”

"It's a tiny scrap of human clothing," Rodimus argued, "Hardly a safety hazard."

He closed the gap between them,

"But you're welcome to punish me," he murmured, panel retracting in anticipation. 


	13. Sock Saga II

“Alright,” Whirl stood in the middle of Swerve’s, “Who’s responsible for this?”

He held up the small j-shaped object.

“What is that?” Tailgate asked.

“I found it outside Magnus’ door,” Whirl said, “Someone’s trying to muscle in on my pranking territory. I want to know who it is.”

“That’s a sock,” Bluestreak said, “It’s what humans wear on their feet.”

“So by process of elimination it would be someone who was stationed on Earth,” Nightbeat said, moving closer to inspect the sock.

“Hands up who’s been to Earth,” Whirl demanded.

“Whirl, this isn’t an interrogation,” Rung said gently, “Someone might have left the sock there by accident.”

Whirl huffed,

“For someone as intelligent as you that’s a pretty idiotic thing to say. Of course it wasn’t an accident.”

“It wasn’t me,” Bluestreak said, “I only collect Earth films.”

“Let me have a closer look,” Nightbeat reached for the sock.

“Oh no you don’t,” Whirl pulled it out of his reach, “You've been to Earth haven’t you Nightbeat. That makes you a suspect.”

“But I’m trying to help you,” Nightbeat protested.

“Trying to throw me off the scent more like,” Whirl retorted, “Everyone who’s been to Earth, that side of the bar, chop chop.”

“Whirl, buddy, this is interesting and all,” Swerve flashed him a smile, “But you can’t boss around my customers. It’s bad for business.”

“What about my business. Pranking Magnus is my job. No one else’s,” he shook his free claw at the assembled mecha, “You all hear me.”

“Whirl!” Magnus’ voice boomed, “What are you doing?”

All heads turned to see Magnus and Rodimus standing in the entrance.

“Trying to find the guy who left this at your door,” Whirl answered, “I haven’t found him yet but when I do…”

“It’s mine,” Magnus said, “Return it to me immediately.”

“It’s yours?” Whirl sounded taken aback.

“See Whirl, it was an accident,” Rung said.

“That or Magnus’ OCD switch has a glitch,” Swerve chuckled.

“Or,” Whirl pointed his claw at Magnus, “You did this to frame me!”

“That is a serious accusation,” Magnus said, “One that I won’t dignify with an answer.”

“Then why did you leave it there?” Whirl demanded.

“I didn’t,” Magnus said exasperatedly, “It was Rodimus,” he glanced at the Captain who was doubled over with hysterics, “You’re not being helpful!”

Rodimus continued to laugh.

Magnus ex-vented. He stormed over to Whirl, snatched back his property and left.

“As you were,” Rodimus manage to force out between giggles. 

He took off after Magnus.

“You filmed all that right?” Getaway whispered to Rewind.

“Yes. I’m going to call it Magnus Sock Drama.”

“Sock Saga,” Skids suggested, “Alliteration. Rolls off the tongue.”

“See doc,” Whirl was complaining to Rung, “You try to do good and all you get is a fat lot of nothing.”

“You did threaten the entire bar,” Rung reminded him.

“Pfft details,” Whirl waved a claw dismissively, “I’m off to steal Magnus’ desk tidy.”


	14. Performance Evaluation (Prime)

"Please return to your seat Knock Out."

Knock Out was currently leaning over Ultra Magnus' desk while the CO glared sternly at him from his own seat.

"Why?" Knock Out purred, "Aren't you enjoying the view?"

He wiggled his chassis and parted his thighs just that little bit further.

Ultra Magnus continued to glower,

"This is hardly appropriate behavior towards your commanding officer," he told Knock Out, "Particularly during a performance evaluation."

"But I'm showing you how attentive I am to personal cleanliness," Knock Out cooed, "Why don't you come a little closer and inspect me?"

Magnus ex-vented. The sound was enough to make Knock Out's confidence falter.

Perhaps he had been too ambitious trying to seduce Magnus. He was a character of stronger moral fiber than Megatron or Starscream. Both would have had their claws on him by now.

But not Magnus. He remained in his seat, in reproach-mode.

Scrap, he was probably about to give him extra duties. 

"Knock Out," Magnus began.

Here it came. Medical equipment stock take or something equally processor-numbing. 

"I am aware that you're coming from a different working environment," Magnus' words took Knock Out by surprise, "That while serving as a Decepticon, there were perhaps certain expectations placed on you by your superiors."

Knock Out was silent. He could tell by Magnus' slightly uncomfortable tone that he was referring to interface.

"It's only natural I suppose that you feel a need to offer the same to me," Magnus' discomfort seemed to increase the more he went on, "But that is not the way I operate. I don't expect or condone sexual favors from my subordinates."

"Er," Knock Out wasn't sure what to say.

He was embarrassed, that was a definite. He wasn't even sure why he had tried to ingratiate himself to Magnus in this manner. On the Nemesis it had been a matter of survival. It hadn't been good enough to simply work hard. To cement his place, Knock Out had needed to push moral scruples aside and been willing to do anything (and that meant anything) his superiors asked. 

With the Autobots it was different. But it was hard to break old habits.

"I'm sorry if I acted out of turn," he told Magnus sheepishly.

Magnus nodded in acknowledgement,

"You are a valued member of this team due your medical expertise," he said, "You have proven yourself in that respect. That is all anyone here expects of you."

Knock Out had never received this kind of assurance from a superior before. He couldn't say he minded it either. 

"Understood," he added nervously, "I, er, hope this won't effect your end report."

"On this occasion I'm willing to overlook it."

"Thank you."

"Now if you'll return to your seat, we can resume the evaluation."

This time Knock Out complied,

"All in all I'm happy with your performance," Magnus said, glancing at the datapad in front of him, "Ratchet is impressed with your work ethic."

"Well he hasn't thrown a wrench at me," Knock Out joked, "I figured I was doing something right."

Magnus didn't laugh. But then, he never laughed.

"The only criticisms I have," he went on, "Is your tendency to make inappropriate remarks and violating curfew to engage in drag-racing.'

"I'm not the only one," Knock Out protested, "Bee and Smoke..."

"Yes I'm aware," Magnus cut in, "And rest assured I will be bringing up their participation during their respective evaluations."

Knock Out decided not to press the issue. Magnus hadn't mentioned any form of punishment.

"Won't happen again," he lied.

"I expect not," Magnus said sternly, "That concludes the evaluation, do you have anything you wish to add or discuss?"

Knock Out hesitated a moment before replying,

"There was one thing."

"Proceed."

"Hypothetically speaking, if you weren't my superior and it wasn't grossly inappropriate, you would frag me right?"

Magnus' jaw dropping was priceless.

"Knock Out," he growled, "Did you manage to take in anything I said into your processor?"

Knock Out shrugged,

"A bot needs to know he's pretty every now and then."

"It is not my place to comment on the attractiveness of my officers or answer inappropriate hypotheticals," Magnus said with frustration, "The evaluation is concluded and you are dismissed."

"Fine," Knock Out huffed.

But he turned as he reached the doorway, hands on his hips,

"At least tell me I'm sexier than Smokescreen."

"Out!"


	15. Karada a.k.a. A Present for Magnus

"I don't see why you asked me to help you," Megatron said as he slipped the rope over Rodimus' neck.

"There was no one else," Rodimus answered, "Magnus is out, because I want it to be a surprise. Speaking of which, can you hurry up, I said meet me in an hour and you know what he's like. It'll be an hour on the dot, not a second earlier or later."

"Yes I'm familiar with Magnus' quirks," Megatron hummed as he began knotting the two strands of rope down Rodimus' front, "Why didn't you ask your best friend Deadlock."

"His name is Drift," Rodimus corrected him for the umpteenth time, "And I did. But he gave me this scrap about it being inappropriate. Y'know because he's with Ratchet now."

"I'm aware," Megatron said indifferently, "You're better off retracting your panel before I latch the rope over it."

Rodimus did as he asked. His valve was already slick with lubricant.

"This is turning you on already I see," a smirk played on Megatron's lips.

"If it didn't, there would be no point," Rodimus said unabashedly, "Stop perving, you haven't finished."

Megatron tied a knot at the same height as the anterior node then threaded the rope between Rodimus' legs. He gave it an experimental tug, knot snagging against the nub and causing Rodimus to moan. 

Now positioned behind his back, Megatron smirked more deeply.

"Anyway what was I saying?" Rodimus said distractedly, "Oh yeah Drift, so whipped. It's not like I was asking him to 'face me."

Megatron brought the rope up Rodimus' back and threaded it around the loop at his neck. Splitting the two strands, he hooked them under Rodimus' arms and back to his chest. 

"Hold still," he said, as he realized Rodimus was purposely rolling his hips to rub the knot against the node, "We are pressed for time remember."

Rodimus pouted but stilled.

"Getaway," Megatron said as he threaded the strands through the gaps in between the knots, lacing them back around to Rodimus' back, "Aren't ropes and chains his forte."

"He would give me one of those stupid bumps," Rodimus said disdainfully, "Such a dumb catchphrase."

"This coming from the mech who spouts "Til all are one" at any opportunity," Megatron drawled as he repeated the process of threading and lacing.

"It's an awesome catchphrase."

"You didn't even come up with it," Megatron muttered, "What about that cheerful one?"

"Tailgate?" Rodimus grimaced, "If Cyclonus found out, he would kill me."

"Whirl?"

Rodimus grimaced even more deeply,

"Do I even have to answer that? Plus you know..."

He mimed Whirl's pincers.

"Rung."

"I couldn't ask the nerd," Rodimus protested, "He'd want to psycho-analyze why I get off on being tied up."

"I actually think he would be supportive of the idea," Megatron murmured as he worked.

"Are you serious?" Rodimus said with disbelief, "Straight-laced professional-to-a-fault Rung?"

"It's consensual play. What would he have against it?"

Rodimus tilted his helm slightly in acknowledgement.

"Even so," he said, "Asking him would be weird." 

"What about the bartender, the one who doesn't shut up?"

"Swerve," Rodimus deadpanned, "And I think you just answered your own question. He would tell everybody. Plus he would probably get too aroused. He hero worships me."

"Perceptor?"

Rodimus groaned,

"Even if he said yes, he would turn it into some science lecture."

"How?" Megatron said disbelievingly. 

"Trust me, he would," Rodimus was adamant, "Especially since I would be tied down and couldn't get away."

"So I was the last resort," Megatron said as he completed the final knot. 

"I wouldn't say that," Rodimus said, "Honestly you're the second person I thought of after Drift."

"Why?"

"Well you barely speak a word to anyone so there's that," Rodimus explained, "Plus you seemed kinky enough to have had experience with this sort of thing. Turns out I was right."

"Is that a compliment?"

"A compliment on my ability to read people," Rodimus said as Megatron took a few steps back to survey the finished result, "How do I look?"

Megatron had to admit Rodimus looked rather fetching with the intricate web of rope running over his frame. But he would never state such a thing aloud. Rodimus had a big enough ego as it was. 

"Not bad," he said.

"Not bad?" Rodimus jutted his chin, "I bet you're dying to clang me right now."

"Not without a gag," Megatron said dryly, "Maybe I'll fetch one. I'm sure Magnus would appreciate it."

"He'll appreciate this more," Rodimus rocked his hips, grinding his valve against the rope.

Megatron watched, amused.

"You really have no shame do you."

"It's a gift."

"That's one way of putting it."

Megatron closed the gap between them and with one finger pressed the knot more deeply into Rodimus' anterior node. 

"This wasn't part of the deal," Rodimus whined, "You said you would help me if I pretended to be Starscream the next we..."

Rodimus did a sharp intake as Megatron continued to finger the knot.

"Yes and that deal is still valid," he said, abandoning the knot to stroke along the patch of rope latched across Rodimus' opening, "I assure you my current actions are completely selfless. The more I tease you, the more desperate you'll be when Magnus arrives."

Rodimus shook his helm,

"You are so full of..." 

He shuddered as Megatron's fingers brushed the rim of his valve.

"Do you wish me to stop?"

Megatron knew the answer before Rodimus gave it, fingers still circling the sensitive derma.

"Ah-ah-okay," Rodimus relented, "Just don't make overload."

How quickly Rodimus seemed to forget that order. After a few teasing strokes, Megatron's fingers navigated around the rope to plunge inside Rodimus' valve. Rodimus put up no resistance, in fact he was desperately rocking his hips trying to reach climax. 

"So close," he moaned, "So close." 

He gave loud whine as Megatron withdrew his fingers,

"What are you doing?"

"Magnus will be here soon," Megatron smiled at the sight of Rodimus twitching in frustration, "And you told me not to make you overload."

He lifted his hand to Rodimus' scowling mouth and smeared it with lubricant.

"Just for effect."

"Get out," Rodimus hissed.

Megatron made a leisurely, satisfied exit. He was barely out the door when the TIC arrived.

"Oh hello Magnus."

"Megatron," Magnus greeted him a respectful tone, "I have an emergency meeting with Rodimus. At least he called it an emergency. Emergency to Rodimus usually doesn't comply with any definition outlined in the Autobot Code. Last time it was because he had lost a game of Fullstasis..."

"Magnus," Megatron interrupted, "As your Captain I strongly suggest you treat any statement of an emergency by your superiors with all due seriousness."

Magnus hung his head at the rebuke,

"Understood," he said, "Are you privy to what the emergency is?"

"I have no idea," Megatron said, "But you shouldn't keep Rodimus waiting."

That was enough prompt for Magnus to hurry inside Rodimus' quarters. 

Megatron lingered long enough to listen to his cry of shock.


	16. Spark Support (TFA)

Magnus stared at the mech in the quarantine chamber, unconscious, tubes protruding from his spark casing. 

"He's responding well to the treatment," First Aid reported, "But he'll need to remain on spark support for the next few cycles."

"Thank you First Aid," Magnus' voice seemed very far away.

He barely took note of the medic leaving. His optics were focused on Rodimus. 

It was all his fault.

A hand fell on his arm,

"You heard the Doc," Kup said, "He's goin' to be okay."

Magnus tore his optics away from Rodimus. Kup's smile was wan. Rodimus had been one of his favorite students. His concern was probably equal to Magnus'. All the more reason Magnus felt guilty standing beside him.

"He called me for back up."

Kup was silent a moment,

"There was nothin' you could do," he said, "The Cons were attackin' us from all angles."

Magnus shook his helm, 

"My decision was selfishly motivated. I didn't want to show him preferential treatment."

"The lad would understand."

Magnus looked back at Rodimus. He had always been so energetic and strong. Now he seemed so fragile, so vulnerable.

All because Magnus had tried to hide the exact nature of their relationship.

"What he wakes up and realizes he doesn't want to forgive me?"

"Of course he will," Kup was adamant, "He adores ya."

Magnus' fingers clenched the Magnus Hammer. A weapon he didn't deserve and a title he wasn't fit to carry. The Magnus was supposed to be protector of all the Cybertron.

Ultra hadn't even been able to protect the one mech he loved. 

"I don't deserve it," he said softly. 

**

Rodimus' optics onlined for the first time in cycles. His processor swam with confusion. Space bridge. Cons. Oil Slick. Cosmic Rust.

"Easy kid," a hand reached for him, "It's okay."

"Kup," Rodimus took in the old mech's face with relief, "Where am I?"

"In hospital," his mentor said, "You got a dose o' Cosmic Rust. You've been on spark support." 

Rodimus groaned,

"No wonder I feel like the Pit."

Kup chuckled,

"Don't worry. First Aid here will have you feelin' like new spark."

Rodimus tilted his helm to take in the medic. The red and white mech glanced up from his chart,

"It's good to have you back with us Rodimus Prime." 

"It's good to be back," Rodimus smiled in spite of his feebleness.

He turned back to Kup,

"Where's Magnus?" he asked, "Is he back from his mission yet?"

Kup's smile vanished. He and First Aid exchanged somber looks.

Fear rose in Rodimus' spark.

"Kup, where's Magnus?" 

**

"You spineless slagger," Rodimus' fist made contact with Sentinel's face, "You were supposed to protect him! You were supposed to..."

He would have continued the assault if Kup and Ironhide hadn't dragged him back.

Sentinel heaved himself upright, rubbing the dent on his cheek,

"For your information Rodimus Prime," he said spitefully, "I was on a mission capturing Decepticons when Ultra Magnus was attacked. So I can't be held accountable."

He pointed a finger at Rodimus,

"Furthermore, as newly elected Magnus, I am well within my rights to prosecute you for assaulting a high commander."

"Go ahead," Rodimus snarled, "I'll never serve under you, Sentinel. Not while Magnus is still alive."

"Alive?" Sentinel scoffed, "Chances are he'll never wake from the coma."

"You don't know that," Rodimus raged, "He's strong. He'll beat this. I know he will."

"Whatever you say Rodimus," Sentinel said dismissively, "I have a planet to run, so if you'll excuse me."

Rodimus struggled to break free of his friends, 

"Come on lad," Kup muttered in his audials, "It's not worth it."

Rodimus glared at Sentinel's retreating frame,

"Ultra was worth more than you'll ever be."

**

"Here," First Aid held out an energon cube.

Rodimus didn't even bother to raise his helm off Magnus' arm,

"No thanks Aid."

"Rodimus, you've been at his side for the past 38 joors so I know you haven't refueled," the medic said, "Please take it. You need to keep up your strength."

Rodimus accepted the cube reluctantly. He drank it as he watched First Aid read the feed from the spark support. 

"Still the same?" he said miserably.

"Yes," First Aid answered, "But at least his condition isn't worsening." 

Rodimus supposed that was something at least. 

"Do you think he'll ever wake up?" he asked First Aid.

The medic hesitated before replying,

"Anything's possible."

Rodimus abandoned his half-consumed cube and laid his helm back down on Magnus' arm.

Anything's possible.

He supposed that was right. He would have never thought in a million years that he would be conjunx endura to a Magnus. 

"Wake up Ultra," he pleaded, once First Aid had departed and they were alone.

There was no response. Rodimus felt despair well in his spark but he pushed it back. 

"If you could see what Sentinel's done to your office, you would have a fit," he found himself saying, "Everything's an extravagant mess, the exact opposite of what you like. He keeps a big portrait of himself on the desk. You would never do anything that conceited."

Rodimus smiled,

"You were even embarrassed about me carrying about your picture in my subspace. Even though you did the same. My file picture. Ugh, the one cycle I forgot to polish and the photographer said I couldn't smile. But you wouldn't let me give you a better one."

He stroked Magnus' fingers,

"Do you remember those times in your office? You were so afraid we were gonna get caught. It was so cute. And hot. Really hot. Remember when Ironhide almost barged in on us? He was always bad at remembering to knock. I hid under the desk until he left."

Rodimus laughed but the sound seemed to catch in his vocaliser,

"I never blamed you," he said softly, "For not sending back up. You had your reasons. I'm a Prime. I was supposed to be strong enough on my own."

Throughout his training, his promotion to Prime, Rodimus had been assured in his own abilities. 

Assured in the fact he earned his position on his own merit.

Assured that his relationship with Magnus had no bearing on his capability as a Prime.

Until his failure at the space bridge. 

Until he had woken up in hospital to find Magnus on spark support.

Now all that assurance was gone. And in its place, Rodimus felt helplessly lost.

He gripped the arm of his endura.

"I'm strongest when I'm with you Mags," he whispered, "So I need you to hear me and I need you to wake up. I need you to get better. I'll watch over you for as long as I have to, but you need to come back to me."

Magnus was unresponsive. Rodimus pressed his lips against the plating of his arm to bite back a scream.


	17. Rodimus-Scream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For you, Insec <3

"What have you done to yourself?" Magnus said, alarmed.

"I'm Starscream," Rodimus said, "Can you tell?"

Magnus could now that he mentioned it. Rodimus' optics were red and he had decked himself in Starscream's colors with fake wings. 

"Why?" Magnus asked, unsure if he actually wanted the answer.

"It was a deal I had with Megs," Rodimus explained, "I had to dress up like Starscream."

"Why Starscream?" Magnus said uneasily.

"For Megs to get off," Rodimus answered, "Not that it worked. I kinda spoiled it by laughing. But you try mimicking Starscream's voice and keeping a straight face. Megs decided he'd had enough halfway through and told me to leave."

Rodimus huffed,

"So rude. I know I was laughing but I did go through all this effort. Look at these wings, they took me ages. And painting myself. I even painted my spike."

Magnus grimaced at Rodimus' candidness. 

"Now I gotta do to all the trouble of taking it off," Rodimus complained, "Unless... Mags, have you ever fantasized about Screamer?"

"I can't say that I h..."

"Oh come on Mags, at least let's try it."

"I really don't..."

"Hahahaha," Rodimus interrupted with a high-pitched laugh, "You think you can dominate Lord Starscream, Ultra Magnus, you fool."

"Don't call me a fool Rodimus," Ultra Magnus frowned.

"Rodimus?" Rodimus cackled in the same screeching voice, "That handsome devil isn't here. It's only me, Lord Starscream the Annoying."

"Starscream would never call himself annoying."

Rodimus' shoulders drooped, fake wings bobbing comically.

"Mags, you're almost as bad as Megatron," he whined, "It's only a fraggin' roleplay."

"Well I don't want to roleplay," Magnus said, "Not with you as Starscream. Or anyone else for that matter."

Rodimus seemed taken aback,

"Really?" 

"Yes, I only want you to be Rodimus." 

Rodimus' mouth curved,

"I can do that," he reached back to begin tugging off the fake wings, "Would you help me get this stuff off?"

Magnus complied. The wings were easy enough. And removing the red lenses. The problem was the fact Rodimus had used permanent paint.

"Why didn't you consider that?" Magnus said as he went about the grueling process of stripping off the paint.

I just didn't okay," Rodimus snapped, "Be careful, I don't want you to take off my original paint too."

"I am being careful," Magnus growled, "You need to keep still."

"I am," Rodimus huffed, "Anyway most maintenance paint isn't temporary."

"You do realize you could have gone to Brainstorm and asked for paint that started off as black and red then reverted to your natural surface color after a certain time frame."

"And how would I explain why I needed that, genius?"

"Camouflage paint with strategic implications," Magnus answered.

"Damn that's a really good idea. Remind me to take that idea to Brainstorm later."

Magnus managed to strip off most of the paint without damaging Rodimus' base coat. He wasn't completely happy due to the few remaining patches. But Rodimus was adamant he'd had enough sitting still and escaped into Magnus' wash-rack for a shower.

"Well that was bothersome," he flopped tiredly onto the berth.

Magnus fought back the urge to tell him it was his own fault.

"You'll feel better after you've recharged."

The ordeal had worn him out as well. He joined Rodimus on the berth, trying to not to focus on the spots he'd missed as the smaller mech shifted closer.

"Hey Magnus?" Rodimus murmured drowsily.

"Yes?"

"You don't mind me having a red spike with black stripes for a while do you?"

"No, that's fine," Magnus said, distracted by the mental image.

Rodimus smiled against Magnus' chestplate. 

"You wanna see it?" 

"Go to sleep Rodimus."


	18. Safeword

"I don't think this is a good idea."

Magnus eyed Rodimus and the pair of stasis-cuffs uneasily.

"Of course it is," Rodimus insisted, "It'll be hot."

"Those cuffs are intended for dangerous individuals," Magnus said, "Not for... for the purpose you are suggesting."

"Magnus, live a little," Rodimus crooned, "Trust me you'll enjoy it."

Magnus failed to see how he would enjoy being stasis-cuffed to the berth.

"Look," Rodimus huffed at his reluctance, "If at any time you don't feel comfortable, tell me to stop."

"And you _will_ stop?" Magnus couldn't help the hint of distrust in his voice.

"Of course I will," Rodimus assured him, "In fact instead of saying stop, why don't we have a safeword?"

"A safeword?"

Rodimus chuckled. Sometimes Magnus' naivete was just too adorable.

"It's a word you say that tells me to stop."

Magnus frowned,

"Then why don't I just say stop?"

"Because that's boring."

"But it's the most appropriate word."

Rodimus pinched the bridge of his nose,

"Magnus just humor me okay?"

Magnus decide to avoid wasted kliks arguing.

"What about desist?" he suggested.

Rodimus cringed,

"That's worse than stop."

"You choose something then," Magnus grumbled, "But not anything silly."

"What like, Bah-weep-graaaaagnah wheep nini bong?"

"I am not saying that. Besides, that's more of a phrase."

Rodimus rolled his optics,

"Magnus, I was joking," he tapped a finger in his chin, "Hmm, let's see. Drift and I use 'Whirl'."

"I'm not using Whirl's name during interface," Magnus objected.

"You would only use it if you wanted me to stop," Rodimus reminded him, "That's why Whirl works so well. Instant arousal-killer."

"I still don't wish to use it."

Magnus preferred their own unique safeword compared to one recycled from Rodimus' encounters with Drift.

"Alright Whirl's out," Rodimus ex-vented, "Swerve?"

"I would prefer it not to be anyone's designation."

"Not even mine?"

Magnus gave him a puzzled look,

"I don't see how that would be very effective. Considering you would probably take any uttering of Rodimus as encouragement."

"Ha I would," Rodimus grinned, "I meant my former designation."

"Hot Rod?"

Rodimus shuddered,

"See, even you saying it now dampens my mood. Which makes it a great choice. Don't you think?"

Magnus wasn't so convinced.

"Isn't there the slightest chance you might hear it and not respond accordingly?"

"Mags trust me, calling me Hot Rod is the same as calling me an insult. If I hear it, I'll immediately slam on the brakes."

"If you're sure," Magnus said.

"I'm sure," Rodimus held up the stasis-cuffs, "Can I lock you in these now?"

Magnus held out his hands in resignation. A few kliks later they were secured above his head to the end of the berth and Rodimus was straddling his chassis.

"So hot," he cooed, "My own captive Magnus."

"Technically I'm not a captive," Magnus said, "I'm a willing participant."

Willing was probably pushing it. But Magnus was not a captive under the guidelines of Autobot Code or Tyrest Accord.

"Sshh," Rodimus pressed a finger to his mouth before sliding down his frame to reach his panel, "Open for me."

Magnus complied. Rodimus dipped his mouth towards his valve at a teasingly slow pace.

"Hot Rod."

Rodimus froze. He looked up at Magnus, frowning.

"I haven't done anything."

"I was merely testing the effectiveness of the safeword."

"Satisfied?" Rodimus deadpanned.

Magnus nodded. Rodimus lowered his helm again.

"Hot Rod."

Rodimus looked up in annoyance.

"What now?"

"Secondary test."

Rodimus shook his helm,

"Magnus, if I thought you were actually capable of teasing someone, I'd accuse you of it right now."

"I'm only being thorough."

A half-truth. It was a little entertaining to exercise the safeword in this manner, though Magnus was quick to reprimand himself. He shouldn't be using it incorrectly to amuse himself.

Still, he was tempted to halt Rodimus a third time.

But Rodimus slammed his mouth against Magnus' valve so fast the only noise his vocaliser emitted was moan.

" _Rodimus_!" as a skilled glossa swirled against his anterior node.

Rodimus paused and smiled up with lubricant-wet lips,

"Better."


	19. Punishment II

Magnus clamped the stasis-cuffs over Rodimus' wrists.

"Now what?" he asked.

Rodimus arched wantonly on the berth.

"Punish me."

"How?" 

"I don't know. Be creative."

Magnus frowned. He wasn't known for his creativity. He followed guidelines, rules. Wait a minute. 

He drew a datapad out of his subspace. 

"This is the latest report you logged," he told a confused Rodimus, "If it's anything like the predecessors, it's riddled with grammatical errors."

"Probably," Rodimus grinned, "What are planning to do? Spank me with it?"

"No," Magnus said offendedly, "I'm going to proof-read it aloud to you."

Rodimus groaned,

"I said punish, not bore me."

"I haven't finished," Magnus said, "I'm not going to touch you until I'm done."

Rodimus gaped at him,

"But that's... Magnus, that's not the punishment I had in mind."

"That's your fault for not specifying the parameters," Magnus told him, "Let's see, for a start you wrote porgress instead of progress report..."

For the first few minutes Rodimus glared and grumbled and moodily tugged on the cuffs as Magnus read out his various mistakes.

"In this paragraph regarding the state of the fuel furnace, you refer to the pyrobots as annoying recluses."

"Well they are," Rodimus growled. 

"Perhaps," Magnus conceded, "But it's not an appropriate statement for an official report."

"You're not an appropriate statement," Rodimus retorted.

"That doesn't make sense."

"You don't make sense!" Rodimus scowled, "Look at me all stasis-cuffed and sexy and all you can think about is that stupid report."

"Reports aren't stupid Rodimus," Magnus said, "They are essential to the efficient running of the ship. That's why they need to comply to a certain criteria."

Rodimus' interface panel retracted with a _snkt _.__

__"Come on Magnus," he cooed, "See how wet and needy I am. Put the report away and play with me."_ _

__Rodimus wasn't lying. His valve was slick with lubricant._ _

__But Magnus wasn't one to leave a task half-completed. He turned back to the datapad._ _

__"You misspelled rivet as r i v a t. Six - no, seven times."_ _

__Rodimus answered with a loud groan. He became more obscene in his attempts to attract Magnus' attention, thrusting and writhing. It only served to increase Rodimus' own frustration._ _

__"Magnus please," he pleaded, "At least let me suck your spike or something. I'm so bored."_ _

__Magnus ignored the request and continued on. Rodimus quietened down. He seemed to realize the futility of trying to sway Magnus from his mission. Every now and then he let out plaintive whimpers that tugged at Magnus' spark. Rodimus did seem to be in a great deal of discomfort from his arousal._ _

__He found himself purposely skipping over mistakes in order to reach the end. He memorized them as he went, knowing he would correct them later._ _

__"You've signed the report as Rodimus Prime, first and therefore superior Captain/co-Captain of the _Lost Light _. I assume this is intended as a dig at Megatron?"_ _ __

__"Yes," Rodimus ex-vented, "Just change it or whatever will you."_ _

__Suddenly he brightened,_ _

__"Wait, that means you're done right? We can finally get down to business."_ _

__He wriggled joyfully._ _

__But Magnus wasn't quite finished,_ _

__"Have you learnt your lesson?"_ _

__"Yes, yes," Rodimus said eagerly, "I'll be more considerate when writing my reports."_ _

__It was a lie. They both knew it. But Magnus felt he had punished the Captain enough._ _

__He subspaced the report. His hand shifted to Rodimus' valve._ _

__"Three fingers," Rodimus pleaded, "Please, I've been waiting long enough."_ _

__Magnus complied,_ _

__"Oh Primus," Rodimus moaned as his valve stretched to accommodate the three large digits, "Mags, you're officially the worst and best at punishment."_ _


	20. Trailcutter

Magnus thought it was odd. Rodimus slipping away early from the crowd at Movie Night. On his own. 

So he followed.

He wasn't expecting Rodimus to disappear into the morgue.

"Rodimus?" he stood in the doorway and called to him.

"Oh hey Magnus," Rodimus' voice drifted out of the darkness.

"What are you doing in there?"

Rodimus didn't answer. Magnus ventured inside. He found him standing over Trailcutter's corpse. 

"I saw him in the past," Rodimus said softly, "He was with Optimus. I warned him about Ofsted XVII."

"You what? Rodimus, you were supposed to avoid changing the future!"

"Magnus, as you can see it obviously didn't work. He shook Chromedome's hand and forgot everything."

Rodimus reached down and touched the Rodimus Star in Trailcutter's hand. 

"I can't believe he actually wanted one of these," he murmured, "What did I ever do to inspire him?"

Magnus was silent. He couldn't exactly argue that Rodimus hadn't treated Trailcutter with much dignity. But then, prior to his enforced sobriety, neither had Magnus, regarding him as a drunken nuisance.

"I blamed Megatron at first," Rodimus went on, "The DJD are his little fan club. But Megatron's also the one that permanently activated his F.I.M. chip. Made him head of security. He did that, not me. I didn't even consider it."

In the murk Magnus caught the outline of Rodimus' sad smile.

"Megatron changed Trailcutter for the better," he said, "Then he died. And I just thought that - I owed it to Trailcutter to help him stay alive. In the end, I couldn't even manage that."

Rodimus stared down at Trailcutter's lifeless frame.

"How many more, Magnus. How many more bodies are gonna end up here and me knowing I didn't do right by them?"

“You tried to do right by Trailcutter,” Magnus pointed out.

“Not enough. Not until it was too late.”

Rodimus gripped the edges of the circuit slab.

"You know the worst part? After a few days, I'll be back to my old self. I'll forget Trailcutter and all the others down here. I'll bicker with Megs and act like a brat and keep giving out my Rodimus Stars. Why do I do that?"

"Because changing is hard," Magnus answered.

Rodimus' helm jerked at the statement.

"Nobody is perfect Rodimus," Magnus went on, "There was a time I valued rules over lives. Your life. I see now how wrong that was. That doesn't stop me seeing regulations being broken everywhere."

In fact he had noticed a few at the Movie Night gathering.

"You've made mistakes,” he told Rodimus, “And so have I. We slip back into old habits because it's convenient. Because it's comfortable. But I think it's inaccurate to say that neither of us are making small leaps of progress. As long as we keep trying to improve, that's what matters."

He reached for Rodimus' shoulder.

"You're not alone Rodimus. We’re in this together."

Rodimus stared up at him. Magnus caught the subtle quirk of his lips.

"Thanks Magnus.”

His fingers squeezed Magnus’ briefly,

“Listen, why don’t I meet you at your hab suite. I… just want a few more minutes.”

Magnus nodded. He felt slightly less reluctant leaving Rodimus after their conversation.

“He’s a good guy isn’t he?” he heard Rodimus say as he was almost out the door, “You were a good guy too Trailcutter. I know you offlined not remembering I ever told you that. But I promise I’ll make things right, somehow.”

I promise too, Magnus thought.


	21. Three in the Berth

"Rodimus asked me to take over bridge duty," Drift told Magnus.

Magnus checked his chronometer. He still had several hours until the end of his shift.

"I don't see why that's necessary."

Drift smiled,

"Rodimus said something about a private meeting in your quarters. You, him and Megatron."

Magnus knew exactly what was meant by 'private meeting'. Judging by Drift's quietly amused expression, he did too.

"Go," he said gently, "I'll hold the fort. I might even invite Ratchet to keep me company."

Magnus knew what 'keep me company' meant too. 

"I suppose it would be hypocritical of me to object?" he told the swordsmech.

Drift's smile grew a little wider,

"Indeed it would."

Magnus grudgingly handed over control of the bridge and headed for his quarters. 

Unfortunately he ran into Whirl on the way.

"Whirl, is that my desk tidy?"

Magnus referred to the item the ex-Wrecker was currently tossing in the air. 

"Yup," the helicopter replied, "I was bored. Wanna play chase the 'copter?"

Magnus did not want to 'play chase the 'copter'. But he did undertake 'pursuit with the intention of regaining his property'. Whirl was quick though, and about forty minutes later, Magnus still hadn't caught him.

But he had found his desk tidy, which Whirl had abandoned but engraved with WHIRL'Z on the side. The blatant misspelling upset Magnus almost as much as the fact Whirl had broken into his office, stolen his property (not for the first time either), lead him on a chase, defaced said property and managed to elude arrest.

Not that Magnus intended to abandon his pursuit. That was, until Rodimus comm'd him.

::Magnus, where are you?:: he whined, ::Drift said you left the bridge ages ago.::

::Whirl...:: Magnus started to say.

::Whirl what?:: Rodimus interrupted, ::Does it involve fatalities?::

::No but...::

::But nothing. If no one's dead, get your aft to the berth. Rodimus out.::

Magnus stared mournfully at his desk tidy. He could say that Whirl had 'killed' it's pristine finish. But somehow he doubted Rodimus would understand.

He subspaced his poor desk tidy and set off for his quarters, mentally writing up Whirl for misconduct as he went.

On the way he passed Mainframe supporting a severely overcharged Jackpot towards the medibay.

Magnus made a sharp detour for Swerve's to remind the proprietor of his duty of care when serving intoxicants. 

"I don't think Ratchet appreciates you serving high grade to point your customers require medical attention."

"Magnus, it's Happy Hour," Swerve argued, "It's hard to keep tabs on everybody. I don't have Ten helping out because you told me I had to give him 'breaks'."

Magnus could have reminded Swerve of the importance of Workers' Rights. But he remembered that he was expected elsewhere.

"All I'm asking is you not serve anyone who can barely stand or drooling copious amounts of oral lubricant," he said by way of farewell.

Fortunately nothing else prevented him from reaching his hab suite.

"You took your time," Megatron said by way of greeting.

He was spread out on Magnus' berth, a datapad in one hand. Rodimus was curled against his side, face buried against Megatron's plating. Magnus suspected he was giving him the 'silent treatment' for tardiness.

"I apologize," he said, "I was delayed by..."

"It doesn't matter," Megatron cut over him, though he sounded far less upset about it than Rodimus had been over the comm, "Unless we're currently under attack?"

"No," Magnus said, still studying Rodimus. On closer inspection, he actually appeared to be recharge.

Megatron's mouth curved,

"Then I stand by my earlier statement," he tilted his helm in Rodimus' direction, "Rodimus couldn't persuade me to start without you so he threw a tantrum and powered down." 

His smirk grew more devious,

"If we're quiet, we could interface without waking him."

"Doubtful," Magnus answered.

It was near impossible for two mechs of their size to interface quietly. Even if they offlined their vocalisers, the scrape of plating would probably be enough to stir Rodimus.

"And I think it's best to let him recharge."

He would be far less cranky then.

"Very well," Megatron drawled, "Will you join us platonically on the berth at least?"

Magnus frowned,

"I don't see how I would fit."

Megatron made a scoffing noise as he subspaced his datapad,

"Surely it wouldn't be a problem in your true form."

Magnus felt a flush of embarrassment for not considering this.

"I suppose you're right."

Minimus disengaged from the Magnus Armour, propping it neatly in the corner before moving to the edge of the berth. Megatron's hand dipped down and scooped him up in one sweep, settling Minimus into a groove between himself and Rodimus.

Rodimus stirred, mumbling something than sounded like 'Til all are one'. Much to Megatron's annoyance. 

"Even in recharge he's aggravating."

"Try recharging with him on a permanent basis," Minimus muttered.

He twisted very carefully in an attempt to get more comfortable.

"I think not," Megatron said, "You on the other hand..."

His servo came to rest on Minimus' chassis,

"I could get used to, provided I didn't roll over during recharge and crush you."

"I am a load-bearer," Minimus reminded him.

He tilted his helm to see the smirk on Megatron's face,

"Ah another bonus," he said, "Perhaps I should persuade Rodimus to swap you for Ravage."

"I doubt he would agree," Minimus said dryly, "Considering Ravage tries to claw Rodimus if he gets too close."

Megatron's optics dimmed,

"What a pleasant image to end the cycle." 

Minimus disagreed. But he soon forgot the image of Ravage swiping at Rodimus. His current position was far too comfortable.

Nestled between the two bigger mechs and blanketed by Megatron's hand, Minimus slipped contently into recharge.


	22. Dreams

“Magnus,” tap, tap, tap, “Magnus.”

Magnus came out of recharge to the sound of Rodimus crooning his designation and tapping on his right optic.

“Stop that,” he raised a hand to bat Rodimus away.

He shifted upright, frowning at the smudge Rodimus had left on his optic. He subspaced a cloth, simultaneously checking his internal chronometer. 

Rodimus had bought him out of recharge several hours too early.

“Why did you wake me?” Magnus suddenly panicked, “What’s happened? Are we under attack? Is anyone…”

Rodimus laughed from his position on Magnus’ lap.

“Chill out Mags, everything’s fine.”

Magnus grumbled,

“Then why…”

“I wanna tell you about the cool dream I had!” Rodimus enthused.

Magnus wearily rubbed at the smudge on his optic.

“It couldn’t wait until my recharge cycle finished?”

As it always was with Rodimus, the answer was no.

“You’ll like it I promise,” the Captain insisted with a grin, “You were in it.”

“I was?” Magnus said before he stop himself.

“Yeah. Well a version of you at least. You didn’t look exactly the same…” Rodimus waved his hand dismissively, “Anyway, you had this massive hammer, not a euphemism by the way. Like an actual giant hammer. That could summon lightening.”

Satisfied his optic was smudge-free, Magnus subspaced his cleaning cloth,

“That’s ridiculous,” he said.

“By ridiculous I assume you mean awesome,” Rodimus replied, “Also I’m not finished. Magnus wasn’t a designation, it was a rank. A higher rank than Prime. Weird right, you were the boss of everybody.”

Magnus found that hard to imagine. He could barely control the crew as TIC. 

“Were you in your dream?” he asked Rodimus.

“Of course I was,” Rodimus answered, “I was a Prime, so nothing really new there. But I had this totally kick aft bow and arrows."

He mimed firing arrows.

“Isn’t that awesome?”

“I suppose,” Magnus lied.

Rodimus smiled up at him.

“Have you ever any crazy dreams?”

“I once dreamt I had a claw for a hand,” Magnus admitted.

Rodimus made a face,

“Like Whirl?” 

He grabbed Magnus’ hand.

“I’m glad you don’t,” he caressed the large digits, “I like these babies.”

It didn’t take long for Rodimus to turn compliment into overture, nuzzling his lips against Magnus’ hand before manipulating it down to rake against his panel.

“Rodimus,” Magnus pleaded, “I’m tired.”

Rodimus pouted,

“Okay,” he surprised Magnus with his acceptance, “But I’m gonna wake up Brainstorm.”

“Why?” Magnus asked uneasily.

Rodimus grinned,

“So he can make me a bow and arrows.”

“Rodimus, that’s a terrible idea,” Magnus protested, “The safety issue alone…”

Rodimus cut him off with a finger to his lips,

“Aw Mags,” he said sweetly, “You’re not the boss of me in reality remember.”

He moved to kiss his cheek,

“Sweet dreams,” he launched agilely off the berth and dashed out the hab suite.

Magnus sat there for a moment in furious debate. His frame desperately wanted to return to recharge.

But then there was image of Rodimus gleefully shooting arrows running through his processor.

In the end the fear of him skewering a crew member dragged Magnus off the berth.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad being leader, he thought to himself as he pursued Rodimus to Brainstorm’s hab suite.

At least then he could overrule his lover’s dangerous moments of inspiration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how realistic it is. But I like to think mecha can dream of being their counterparts in other universes :3


	23. Report (TFA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Roddy sucks at reports in every universe in my headcanon.

"You wanted to see me Sir."

"Yes Rodimus please come in."

The young Prime shifted from the doorway to stand at attention in front of Ultra Magnus’ desk.

Magnus surveyed him from his seat, fingers locked on the surface of the desk. It was free of any clutter apart from a desk tidy and a single datapad. 

"I wanted to discuss your latest report."

Rodimus frowned,

"Is there something wrong?"

"Frankly it's your report writing,” Magnus tapped the datapad with a deep frown, “It's atrocious. It's riddled with grammatical inconsistencies and…” he appeared to shudder, “Slang."

Rodimus fought back the urge to scoff.

"That's why you called me in here?” he did his best to sound politely inquiring. 

But he could quite hide the undertones of ‘are you serious?’

Stupid question. Of course Magnus was serious. He was always serious. Well, varying degrees of serious. Right now it was ‘slightly indignant serious’. 

"I do not take this sort of thing lightly Rodimus Prime,” he said, “You are highly competent in the field. But your paperwork needs to be up to the same standard."

Rodimus put on his best can-do smile.

"So I'll try harder,” he said, throwing in a salute for good measure, “Sir.”

He turned to leave. He was meeting his team at Maccadam’s for post-mission drinks. Something Rodimus had been looking forward to since touching back down on Cybertron, and probably a factor in his hastily written report. Not that he was going to admit this to Magnus, not unless he wanted an additional lecture on time management. 

But even silent retreat wasn’t an option. Magnus’ voice stopped him in his tracks.

"I thought you might benefit from supervision."

Rodimus turned back to Magnus with a feeling of dread,

“Sir?”

Magnus’ large fingers skirted the edge of the datapad.

"I want you rewrite the report here so I can coach you.”

"But..." Rodimus began to protest.

Magnus’ steely gaze silenced him. The look that said ‘I can summon lightening with my hammer and you best do what I say’.

Rodimus’ shoulders sagged.

“Yes sir.”

He trudged back to the empty chair Magnus must have set up for this very purpose.

He barely suppressed a groan when Magnus bought out a datapad titled ‘Autobot Code Supplementary: Guide to Report Writing’.

“You should have received a copy upon your promotion to Prime.”

“I, uh, misplaced it I think.”

He was reasonably sure he had used it to fix the lean in his command chair.

“I should hope not,” Magnus said severely, “It is Elite Guard property.”

Rodimus grinned in reassurance,

“I’m sure it’s somewhere.”

Magnus didn’t look entirely convinced. But he didn’t press the issue further.

“For the time being you can borrow my copy.”

He passed it to Rodimus, who glanced depressingly at the gargantuan page count.

Now he remembered why he had never read the damn thing and ‘winged it’ when he wrote reports.

“If we had more time I would go through the document in its entirety with you,” Magnus told him, “But as we limited in that respect, I will make reference to the parts where your report needs improvement.”

Rodimus fought the urge to fist pump the air in happiness.

But his jubilation was short-lived. 

He listened – well, half-listened, barely listened - as Magnus pointed out the various mistakes in his report, how he failed to comply with spacing guidelines, how ‘rad’ wasn’t an appropriate adjective, the list seemed endless.

Rodimus pinged Ironhide in the middle (well he hoped it was the middle) of Magnus’ lecture, telling Team Athenia to start without him. 

Finally Magnus seemed to run out of things to critique.

“Your original report requires too much editing to be salvageable,” he said, “You can use it for reference. I think it’s more prudent to retype it on a new datapad.”

Magnus offered him one from his desk compartment. Rodimus accepted it with a forced smile.

Now came the tricky part. Rodimus attempting to re-type his report with Magnus watching him like a cyberhawk.

He had barely typed two letters when Magnus huffed,

“You didn’t change your margin settings. 2.5 cyber-inches.”

Rodimus grumbled as he adjusted the settings.

“Why aren’t the datapads automatically programmed with the right settings?”

“Because different reports require different formatting,” Magnus said with a note of frustration, “Weren’t you listening to me at all?”

No, Rodimus wanted to shout. But that wasn’t going to get him to Macadam’s any sooner.

With the format fixed, he resumed typing – Magnus still watching, still intervening as soon as he made a mistake.

“You can’t use abbreviation when referring to the enemy.”

“With all due respect Sir, every bot knows what Con means when they see it.”

“Nevertheless,” Magnus was unyielding, “This is an official document. There is no place for abbreviation or informality. It’s Decepticon, not Con or, as you referred to them in your original report, Decepti-creeps.”

Rodimus smiled in spite of his predicament,

“I’m actually kinda proud of that one.”

Magnus frowned,

“What?”

Rodimus ex-vented,

“Nothing Sir, just appreciating my own wit.”

Magnus stared him impassively for a moment.

“Continue your report,” he said.

Rodimus complied with a huff. The progress was painstakingly slow. His processor drifted to his team, presumably into their third round at Maccadam’s, unwinding without him.

Hadn’t he suffered enough? He paused from typing. 

"Sir if I may,” he said, careful to make his tone as respectful as possible, “Don't you have more important things to do?"

"This is important Rodimus,” Magnus replied.

"Yes but you're the Magnus,” Rodimus pressed on, “Don't you have important Magnus things to do?"

"I cleared my schedule,” came Magnus’ curt answer.

Rodimus bit back a ‘wow don’t I feel special’. Magnus didn’t seem like someone who appreciated or perhaps even registered sarcasm.

He grudgingly continued with the tortuous task.

“No,” Magnus interrupted yet again, “Why do you insist on ignoring punctuation in favor of run-on sentences?”

Rodimus had no clue what run-on sentences even were. But at this point he was too frustrated to ask.

“Sir, what do you expect? I’m trained as a soldier, not a… grammar bot!”

He gestured derisively at the datapad,

“I don't see how paperwork is this important. It can’t gun down a Decepticon ship or defend a spacebridge."

Magnus leaned back in his chair, expression grave, borderline disappointed.

"Rodimus our reports contain highly significant information. They are essential in forming new strategies. They may indeed contain the key to ultimate victory over the Decepticons.” 

Rodimus hadn't considered that. 

"I guess you have a point,” he admitted.

Magnus’ faceplates seemed to soften ever so slightly,

"Rodimus, you have the potential to be become the next Magnus. But there’s more to being a Magnus than being a capable soldier. That is why I’m attempting to help you excel in other areas.” 

Rodimus suddenly felt like a selfish piece of slag. He had misunderstood Magnus’ supervision as unfair punishment, not genuine assistance.

“Sorry Sir,” he muttered, “I didn’t mean to act unappreciative.”

Magnus gave a slight nod of acknowledgement, 

“Finish your report,” he said, with rather unusual gentleness, “And all is forgiven.”

Rodimus liked the sound of that. He resumed the task with new-found motivation. Magnus still halted him on occasion but not as frequently as before. 

Finally the Prime reached the end and after glancing at Magnus for a nod of approval, he marked his designation at the bottom.

Even though he had watched Rodimus type every word, Magnus still looked it over in full.

"This is acceptable,” he said.

Happiness swelled in Rodimus’ spark. 

"So I'm free to go?” he said hopefully.

Magnus was still staring at the datapad.

"You may," he said, "Please ensure you are this thorough in the future."

“Yes Sir!”

Rodimus made his way out with a spring in his step. He was almost out of the door when something unconsciously made him turn.

Magnus was still hunched over the datapad.

It struck Rodimus as… well, kind of lonely. 

He never saw Magnus at Maccadam’s or anywhere in a non-professional capacity. He didn’t seem like the type who had friends. Subordinate yes, acquaintances at the council, yes.

But friends?

Granted Magnus was a workaholic so it probably didn’t bother him. 

But somehow it bothered Rodimus. 

"Perhaps I could do with some more supervision.”

Magnus glanced up in surprise. Rodimus smiled at him from across the room.

"You know, just to be sure."

Rodimus knew he could be obtuse at times. But one thing he did have was keen optics. He caught the twitch of Magnus’ mouth before it fell back into a straight line. A small sign that Magnus appreciated the offer more than he wanted to let on.

"I'll reorganize my schedule,” he told Rodimus.

“Cool,” Rodimus grinned, “Catch you later Sir.”

He raced off before Magnus could rebuke him for his shocking informality.


	24. Public Announcement

"Ahh Magnus," Rodimus moaned, "Harder."

He was currently arched over his desk, Magnus behind him, working his fingers slowly into his valve. He hesitated. Rodimus’ valve was already stretched to its limit, accommodating four fingers. Applying more force made Magnus worry about hurting him.

“Please Mags,” Rodimus pleaded, “Need it.”

Magnus hated his pitiful way of speaking that tugged on his spark. He complied, thrusting his fingers in deeper. Rodimus let out a happy wail. Magnus felt the squeeze of Rodimus’ calipers around his digits.

“So good,” Rodimus groaned, “Frag, keep going.”

He ground his hips back in encouragement. It was enough to allay Magnus’ fears. Enough to continue slamming his fingers inside Rodimus’ valve with no other thought than bringing pleasure.

Like all encounters of this nature with Rodimus, the act seemed to disconnect Magnus from everything else. To the point the room blurred around him.

There was just Rodimus, the feel, the sound of Rodimus, the desire to make him overload.

It took Magnus a moment to realize someone was hailing his personal frequency.

Ratchet. Magnus didn’t like to ignore a comm. But given his current situation, it was unwise to answer it. Ratchet could leave him a message if it was urgent.

Sure enough Ratchet pinged him a message. Magnus quickly checked it. Just to ensure it wasn’t an emergency.

_Tell Rodimus to switch his PA off._

Magnus froze. There was a whine from Rodimus but it barely registered above the horror gushing in Magnus’ audials as the bigger mech strained forward to see the position of Rodimus’ fingers curled near the PA activation. The light was on.

In his haste he practically sent Rodimus flying off to the side to turn it off.

Rodimus scrambled to his pedes with a frown.

“What was that for?” he demanded.

"You broadcasted us over the PA system!" Magnus shouted.

Rodimus gave him a disbelieving look.

"No,” he scoffed before venturing closer.

He caught sight on Magnus’ finger still on the off-switch. One hand moved to rub the back of his helm as he smiled – _smiled_ – sheepishly.

"Oh. I must have hit the button by accident. Oops."

"Oops?" Magnus’ voice quaked with incredulity, "You notified the whole crew to the fact we were... _interfacing_... in your office and all you can say is _oops_?"

"Yeah,” Rodimus shrugged, unfazed, “Oops."

Magnus lost his remaining vestiges of calm right then and there,

"Do you not realize the gravity of the situation?” he cried, “Everyone heard us – you – you referring to me specifically!”

He sagged into Rodimus’ chair, well half-sagged. He didn’t quite fit on it. More aptly put, he perched on Rodimus’ chair with his helm in his hands,

“This is so humiliating."

"Calm down,” Rodimus soothed, “It's not that bad."

"Not that bad?” Magnus groaned, “The crew barely respect my authority as it is. Now they’ll throw any attempt at discipline back in my face. Ultra Magnus, why is it we can’t play hand-grenade tag yet you’re allowed to break the clause on fraternization and public indecency?”

Rodimus scoffed,

“Public indecency? It’s not like we were caught doing it in a hallway or something.”

“No,” Magnus said bitterly, “What we did was worse. If it had just been a hallway, we would have only been seen by a potential number of people.”

“Who would have told everyone else,” Rodimus pointed out, “Gossip spreads fast on this ship. In fact I wouldn’t be surprised people thought we were fragging a lot earlier than when we started.”

That idea scandalized Magnus somewhat. Though it was by far the worst of his problems.

“Rumor is one thing. The crew having it confirmed by their own audials is another… Would you please close your panel?”

Rodimus still had his valve exposed. It was leaking lubricant down his leg and dripping onto the floor. Rodimus ignored the request. The only action he took was folding his arms.

“So what if we confirmed it,” he said, “I’m not ashamed. It’s not like the rest of the crew is celibate… Maybe Swerve and Whirl but not by _choice_. No one's gonna lord it over you because of this small mishap.”

Small mishap? Magnus thought, only Rodimus would use the term ‘small mishap’ to describe this situation.

“If anything they’ll be jealous of your prowess,” Rodimus went on, “Not many mecha can make me moan like that.”

“You’re missing the point,” Magnus grumbled, “This isn’t an issue of… prowess. It’s about…”

Rodimus held up his hands,

“Okay seriously Magnus, now’s not the time for a self-pity party. I was denied an overload. And thrown across the room I might add. So my ability to think positively is dwindling.”

“It’s alright for you,” Magnus said defensively, “People expect this kind of behavior from you. Not from me.”

“Exactly,” Rodimus suddenly grinned, “They don’t expect it from you.”

Magnus gave him an impatient look.

“That’s what I just said.”

“No, you’re not following,” Rodimus said, “People don’t _expect_ this kind of behavior from you. Ergo, they _might_ be inclined to believe me moaning your name into the PA had nothing to do with interface.”

“I doubt there’s any other explanation you could come up with,” Magnus said skeptically, “Believable of course.”

“That’s where you’re wrong Magnus,” Rodimus said confidently, “If there’s one thing I’m good at its thinking on my feet.”

Before Magnus could contradict him, Rodimus had lunged to activate the PA.

"This is your Captain speaking,” he began and Magnus cringed at his almost sultry tone, “And when I say Captain, I mean the sexy speedster, not the _other_ one. Ha, Megs, I joke. You know I love you, bestie.”

“ _Rodimus_ ,” Magnus hissed.

“Anyhoo,” Rodimus breezed as only Rodimus was capable of breezing, “Some of you may have heard some, uh, interesting sounds earlier. The thing is, I pulled my rotator cuff, being awesome, and Magnus, being the upstanding TIC that he is, offered to massage it for me. I maybe got a little carried away expressing how good it felt... So, uh, my bad. On an unrelated note, who's up to fullstasis tonight? Swerve's, 2200, opponents be prepared to lose... Till all are one, Rodimus out."

He deactivated the PA and turned to Magnus with a look that said ‘pretty good huh?’

“Massaging your rotator cuff?” Magnus groaned, “Do you really expect people to believe that?”

Granted he wouldn’t have be able to come up with a better lie himself. But it was still ridiculous.

Rodimus shrugged,

“Whether they do or not, it’s now the official version of events. If you like I can even fill out an incident report, saying I hurt myself performing backflips or something.”

Magnus supposed that would increase plausibility.

It was no secret Rodimus liked somersaulting onto the bridge for ‘effect’.

Frankly it was more surprising that Rodimus was offering to complete paperwork. The fact it was for Magnus’ sake didn’t fail to move him a little.

“I appreciate that,” he said, “But falsifying incident reports is a violation of…”

“The law,” Rodimus ex-vented, “I should have figured.”

He stood there pouting. Magnus felt a twinge of guilt.

“Your announcement was enough,” he assured him.

At least he hoped it was.

A smile brightened Rodimus’ faceplates. That was consolation enough Magnus supposed. For the time being.

“I’m sorry I shoved you earlier,” he added, “I panicked. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Me?” Rodimus said in his carefree ‘I’m invulnerable’ manner, “Nah.”

He closed the gap between them,

“But I would like to finish what we started,” his hands began to trail over Magnus’ seams.

"Are you sure – after everything that just happened?”

Rodimus crawled onto Magnus’ lap, smearing lubricant on him in the process. The Captain still hadn’t closed his panel. Given his intention it didn’t seem like he would in the short term either.

He leaned in to kiss Magnus.

“The PA is off,” he said, “But just to be safe, frag me in my chair so I don’t hit anymore buttons.”


	25. Walk of Shame

Magnus should have been expecting it. The small group gathered outside Rodimus’ quarters, waiting for him to emerge.

Swerve. Bluestreak. Riptide. Whirl.

They were all grinning. Well, not Whirl. He had no mouth. But there was a gleeful glint in his optic.

"Walk of shame,” he crowed.

That set the others off,

“Way to go Magnus.”

“Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Seriously, I thought you were created without an interface system.”

Magnus suddenly wished to be swallowed by a hole in the floor. Obviously no one had bought Rodimus’ story about his injured rotator cuff.

Still he was not going to put up with this level of disrespect. He glowered at the trouble-makers.

"Move before I arrest you all for loitering,” he threatened.

Unease swept over several faces. Not Whirl’s however. Not because he was incapable of expressing it either. He took a challenging step towards Magnus.

"Are you gonna arrest yourself for fraternization?" he crooned, "How about that, lawmech, you and me in a cozy cell. You can give me a…”

He used his claws to form air quotes,

“Massage.”

The comment sparked giggles from the others. Magnus found himself floundering again.

"Move along Whirl," a commanding voice intervened.

Megatron was making his way towards them,

"All of you,” he gave the others a brief glance, “I assume you’re all supposed to be doing something – Primus knows what – nothing gets done on this ship.”

Swerve, Bluestreak and Riptide slunk off like chastened sparklings. Whirl lingered, challenging Megatron’s authority as he had Magnus’.

“You heard me Whirl,” Megatron said. Magnus marveled at the way the co-Captain could sound so controlled but threatening at the same time.

Whirl held his ground a moment longer before waving his claw dismissively,

“Aww you’re no fun.”

Magnus waited until the rotary was out of sight before turning to Megatron.

“Thank you.”

Megatron’s mouth quirked,

“I admit Rodimus’ second last broadcast was a nice change of pace from his usual drivel.”

“It really was Rodimus’ rotator cuff,” Magnus tried to say.

“Yes I’m sure,” Megatron drawled, “I bought you a gift. Hold out your hand.”

Magnus interpreted that as an order. Reluctantly he extended his hand.

Megatron dropped something into it. It looked like a collar with a ball attached to it.

“What is..?

“It’s a ball gag,” Megatron explained, “It might come in handy the next time Rodimus turns on the PA with his aft.”

“It wasn’t his…” Magnus started but managed to stop himself.

He glanced down at the ball gag.

“Thank you,” he forced himself to be polite, “But I can’t…”

“I insist,” Megatron said, “It’s a spare.”

“Spare?” Magnus echoed.

Just how many of these things did Megatron have? His faceplates burned hot and his fans kicked in noisily.

Megatron appeared unfazed by the TIC’s embarrassment.

"Stop by my hab suite later,” he said before turning to leave.

“Sir?” Magnus called after him.

Megatron glanced over his shoulder with a smirk,

"I want know to exactly what you were doing to make Rodimus moan like that."


	26. Heat

“So my heat cycle is coming up,” Rodimus told Magnus.

The candidness bought a slight flush to Magnus’ faceplates.

“Duly noted,” he said and tried to return to his report.

A task made more difficult as Rodimus hopped up on the edge of his desk.

“Magnus, I don’t think you understand the magnitude of the situation. We’re exclusive right?”

“Yes.”

“So usually during my heat cycle I frag anyone. But this time it will just be you. Do you get my drift?”

Magnus caught his meaning. He nodded.

“Yes.”

Rodimus touched the side of his face,

“Think you can handle it?”

“Yes.”

Magnus didn’t see any other option. Besides, he managed to cope with Rodimus’ usual sexdrive, which was more overactive than most mecha. He doubted the heat could make him even worse.

On the first day of the cycle, Magnus began to realize the naivety of that statement.

Seven overloads. Two in the berth after Rodimus woke him out of recharge pawing at his panel. Once in the washrack. Once in his office. Once in Rodimus’ office. One narrow miss in the hallway after leaving Swerve's but Magnus had managed to convince Rodimus to wait until they reached his quarters. Twice in the berth before Rodimus finally slipped into recharge.

The next day followed a similar pattern. Magnus was well and truly out of his depth.

But he endured. Because he promised Rodimus he would. Even though Rodimus’ demands made certain that he was barely able to get anything else done. The Captain tailed him practically everywhere.

His interface systems, both as Minimus and the Magnus Armor, couldn’t quite handle the excess use. They became so oversensitive he had no choice but to give them a reprieve. Rodimus didn’t seem to mind. Magnus could still bring him to overload with his fingers. Toys too. Toys that belonged Rodimus. Magnus would never own that kind of paraphernalia.

But even this took a toll on his time management and energy levels. 

Magnus was burnt out.

Megatron took one look at him and knew straight away,

“Just be fortunate he’s not a seeker.”

Magnus decided not to put much thought into that statement.

But he was starting to worry. Especially when the average amount of days for a heat cycle befitting Rodimus’ frame type came and went, Rodimus’ libido remaining the same.

“I think we need to see Ratchet.”

Rodimus was stretched out on the berth in yet another post-overload haze.

“Why?”

“Your heat cycle should have ended by now.”

A somewhat guilty look passed over Rodimus’s faceplates.

“Yeah it did,” he admitted, “Two days ago.”

Magnus was speechless a moment.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he demanded.

Rodimus gave him a sheepish smile,

“You’ve been so accommodating lately. I didn’t want it to end.”

“Accommodating?” Magnus cried, “Rodimus, I’m exhausted. I was only doing this because I thought you were enduring discomfort. Now I find you’ve been taking advantage of me.”

Rodimus’ mouth formed a pitiful little pout,

“I can’t help it. When it comes to you, I’m insatiable.”

Magnus tried not to be swayed by the compliment.

“You still used me,” he said.

Rodimus crawled over the edge of the berth where Magnus was standing.

“I know,” he nuzzled his face against his arm, “I’m sorry.”

Magnus ex-vented as he felt himself being won over. Rodimus did sound genuinely apologetic.

“Just don’t do it again.”

Rodimus nodded, lips against his plating,

“Trust me I learnt my lesson. It was great and everything but my parts are pretty sore. They need a rest.”

That was one of the few most sensible things Rodimus had ever uttered in regards to interface. It was perhaps the only reason Magnus didn’t scold him on the spot for continuing to request interface in spite of discomfort.

Rodimus pressed a kiss to his plating,

“Take off your Armor.”

The request surprised Magnus.

“Why?” he asked suspiciously.

Rodimus gave a tired chuckle,

“Mags you’re so distrustful. You’re too big for me to cuddle in your Armor.”

Magnus permitted himself to relax. Rodimus surely meant non-sexual cuddling. He complied, disengaging from the Magnus Armor. Minimus used one of the legs as a step to climb up onto the berth. Rodimus caught hold of him, dragging him backwards against his chestplate, arm latching around Minimus’ tiny frame.

This is nice,” Rodimus murmured against his top of his helm.

Minimus couldn’t disagree. The way he fit snuggly against Rodimus, cocooned by his arm, was reminiscent to how he felt inside the Magnus Armor. But Rodimus was living mecha, not the shell of one. His embrace was freely given, warm, superior.

“Yes it is.”

Minimus might have admitted that it was worth the multiple rounds of interface. But he knew that Rodimus would take that as encouragement for his next heat cycle.


	27. Symphony for Magnus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for Issue 43. Just a warning folks

“Surprise,” Rodimus said happily.

Magnus stared at Swerve’s dimly-lit and noticeably empty bar with confusion.

“I don’t understand,” he turned back to Rodimus’ grinning face, “Is everyone frequenting "Visages" again? Where is Swerve?”

“With Skids I think,” Rodimus answered, “I convinced him to let us have the bar to ourselves for the night.”

“For what purpose?” Magnus asked.

Rodimus pointed at the screen normally used for Movie Night.

“For some culture, courtesy of Rewind’s memory banks.”

Magnus still wasn’t following. He glanced at Megatron.

“You’re being needlessly vague,” the co-Captain huffed at Rodimus, “We know you are an aficionado of classical music. So we asked Rewind if he had any live recordings…” 

“Turns out he did,” Rodimus cut in, “We’re gonna play ‘em on the big screen.”

Magnus was taken aback,

“You arranged this for me?”

“Yup,” Rodimus beamed, “We thought you deserved a treat."

“For your hard work,” Megatron added, “And for putting up with Rodimus.”

“Putting up with both of us,” Rodimus corrected with a glare, “You’re hardly the hassle-free Captain.”

“I always have my paperwork done on time.”

“That’s because you have no social life and hide away in your room.”

“Where I spend my time working, a concept that seems quite foreign to you.”

“Hey I work. Sure my reports are a little tardy sometimes. But I still do them.”

“Only after Magnus has exhausted himself asking for them.”

A guilty look passed over Rodimus’ faceplates,

“Yes… Well… We could debate this all night or we could enjoy my gift to Magnus.”

“Our gift,” Megatron said, “In fact it was my idea you might recall. All you came up with was a three-way.”

“Well that’s always a possibility for later,” Rodimus winked at Magnus, “Right Mags?”

Magnus had barely heard their argument. A rarity for him. But he was too distracted by the fact they had gone to all this trouble to please him.

“I don’t know what to say.”

That elicited a chuckle from Rodimus,

“You don’t have to say anything. Just enjoy yourself.”

He indicated three seats positioned in prime view of the screen.

“How did you convince Swerve to loan you the bar?” Magnus asked as they took their seats.

“I offered him a Rodimus Star,” Rodimus answered, “I wanted to give him one after the whole Swerth thing. But it seemed kinda tacky. Like it was just a pity award.”

Magnus agreed, though he had the feeling Swerve would have accepted it regardless.

“Loaning his bar to a worthy cause was a more inspirational reason. Plus it meant he agreed straight away. Comfy?”

Magnus nodded. He was in the middle. Megatron on his left and Rodimus pressed against his right. Rodimus angled a remote in the direction of the screen.

A full shot of the lush gleaming interior of the Iacon Opera House came into view. Magnus leaned forward in his seat. He could hear the soft strains of the orchestra rehearsing over the general murmuring of the crowd.

The stage lights dimmed. A hush descended over the crowd. The metallic curtains parted.

The opening strains of Ode to Prima filled the air, coming from the various speakers around the bar.

Magnus’ spark swelled with excitement. It wasn’t the same as listening to audio recordings.

This setup transported him back in time, to his family’s box seat.

The orchestra played the entirety of Eucryphia’s compositions – all the while the screen behind them projected patterns of shifting light, fluctuating in time with music.

Magnus watched – enrapt – until the final strains of the Empyrean Suite was met with thunderous applause.

It was only once the recording ended that he noticed Rodimus had nodded off against his arm.

Magnus didn’t take offence. He knew Rodimus wasn’t a fan of this genre. The fact he had subjected himself to it without complaining was admirable.

It was frown on Megatron’s face that threw him.

“Did you not enjoy the music?” he asked.

Megatron turned to him, expression still solemn,

“Yes I did,” he said, “I’ve always found Eucryphia’s work affecting, despite being the product of an oppressive era.”

“Is that why the DJD adopted the Empyrean Suite?” Magnus found himself inquiring, “A deliberate act of subversion?”

Megatron’s frown deepened ever so slightly,

“One of the reasons,” he said after a moment, “You must resent me. Allowing your favorite music to be exploited in such a way. Not to mention the war being responsible for the destruction of the Opera House.”

“I suppose it represented the privilege of the upper classes,” Magnus said softly.

“An apt statement,” Megatron sighed, “But you didn’t answer my question.”

“Of whether I resent you?” Magnus said, “I suppose I did. Once. Though this resentment wasn’t limited to the loss of a beloved monument and the corruption of Eucryphia's masterpiece.”

“Yes I did kill a lot of people,” Megatron said rather blandly.

“I can’t say that is an easy thing to overlook,” Magnus admitted, “But this ship is known for giving people second chances. You included.”

Megatron’s lip curled. But he said nothing in objection. Magnus made use of his silence.

“You may have been indirectly responsible for the destruction of the Opera House. But you also arranged for me to experience it again.”

Megatron’s gaze shifted to one side,

“It’s the least I could do,” he said softly.

“Perhaps a replacement will be built one day,” Magnus speculated, “And new composers will emerge with new compositions.”

“But you won’t be there to see it,” Megatron said dully, “You’ll be out here in the dead of space. On this fool’s errand of a quest.”

The bitterness in voice spoke volumes.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the music,” Magnus gestured at the screen, “I know the situation isn’t ideal at times. But it’s what you choose to make of it.”

He was referring more to Megatron’s predicament than his own. The Lost Light was his home. It had taken him a while to realize this. He hoped Megatron would feel the same in time.

At least by the small curve of Megatron’s mouth he seemed to have lifted his spirits somewhat.

“We should make this a regular occurrence,” he turned his helm, giving Magnus full view of his smile, “I like seeing the ecstasy on your face.”

“I don’t know if that’s quite the right term,” Magnus said somewhat embarrassedly, “But I would like to experience it again.”

“I’ll talk to Swerve,” Megatron hummed, “Perhaps next time Rodimus will stay awake for more than ten kliks. I would have thought all the pretty swirling lights might have maintained his attention.”

“He has been known to defy expectations,” Magnus said rather fondly.

Megatron leaned over and pressed his lips against his own.

“So do you,” he murmured, “Minimus Ambus.”


	28. Best Seat In The House

“That’s my seat.”

Megatron remained in said seat, arms folded, staring at Rodimus.

“It doesn’t have your designation on it.”

“The sign on it said ‘Reserved for the Captain’,” Rodimus retorted, “I’m the Captain.”

“As am I,” Megatron reminded him, “Which is why I’ll continue to sit here.”

“No you won’t,” Rodimus scowled, “Because it’s my seat. It has been for every single Movie Night.”

“Are you under some impression that I care?”

Megatron’s answer caused Rodimus to throw up his hands.

“Why are you even here?” he grouched, “Why aren’t you hidden away in your room being anti-social?”

“I’m trying something different,” Megatron replied, “Which is what you should do, by finding another seat.”

“There are no more seats,” Rodimus indicated the crowd around them, “Even if there were, this one is mine. It has the best view of the screen.”

Megatron hummed, leaning back in the seat.

“I expect it does, if a certain mech wasn’t blocking my view.”

“I’ll block your view all evening if you don’t give up my seat,” Rodimus threatened.

Megatron shook his helm,

“You do realize how ridiculous you’re acting, in front of the entire crew?”

“Ridiculous?”

Rodimus turned to address the rest of the movie-goers. Most of them were already watching the co-Captains’ argument.

“Everyone show of hands,” he ordered, “Who thinks I’m being ridiculous for wanting my seat?”

Whirl’s claw was raised in an instant.

“I also think it’s ridiculous you haven’t thrown a punch yet,” he called, “C’mon, you know you want to.”

“Whirl stop inciting violence,” Magnus interjected.

He had been waiting for the moment to do so, listening anxiously to the bickering co-Captains from his own seat next to Ten.

It was pointless asking Rodimus to back down. He was too stubborn. So was Megatron.

Magnus only saw one way around it. He stood up.

“Rodimus, please take my seat.”

Rodimus frowned,

“Where will you sit?”

“Why don’t you sit in his lap?” Megatron suggested.

“Shut up seat thief,” Rodimus’ faceplates suddenly lit up, “Wait, that’s a good idea.”

Magnus tried to protest. This wasn’t what he had in mind. But within a matter of seconds Rodimus had cleared the distance between them, pushed him back down into his seat and hopped on his lap.

Magnus was conscious of the crew’s optics as Rodimus squirmed about on his lap trying to make himself comfortable.

:: Everyone is staring at us.:: he hissed over their private comm.

::No they’re not.:: Rodimus said blithely as he swiveled on his side, stretching his legs out so they spilled over Magnus’ thigh and his pedes rested on Ten’s leg.

“Hey Ten, you wanna massage my pedes?” he wriggled them for emphasis.

“He’s not your servant,” Magnus said sternly, “Ten, you don’t have to.”

He could see the Legislator’s hands moving to comply in his periphery. At Magnus’ insistence they halted.

Rodimus pouted,

“Then will you massage my pedes?” he asked Magnus.

“I’m not a masseur,” Magnus felt the glare of optics and switched back to private comm, ::It’s bad enough you’re using me as a chair.::

::Hey you offered.::

::I offered you my seat. Not my lap.::

Rodimus snuggled up to his chestplate,

::But it’s the best seat in the house.::

Considering Rodimus’ earlier tantrum and the humiliation of his predicament, Magnus didn’t take that as much of a compliment.

::I thought that title belonged to your usual seat.::

::I changed my mind.:: Rodimus said contentedly.

Much to his chagrin, Magnus felt Rodimus’ aft rocking against him.

::Stop that.::

::Why?:: Rodimus’ tone was smug, ::Is it making you hot and bothered?::

::We’re in public,:: Magnus pleaded, ::Please sit still and watch the movie.::

::Fine.:: Rodimus huffed, ::But I expect my ‘seat’ to carry me back to his quarters afterwards and frag me into his berth.::

Magnus’ fans kicked on noisily, drowning out the instrumental of the opening credits. Several helms once again swiveled in his direction.

::I’ll take that as yes.:: Rodimus’ voice purred through their comm line.


	29. Verity

Ten reacts with confusion the first time time he sees Magnus as Verity.

"It's me Ten," Magnus assures him, "Ultra Magnus. This is a holomatter avatar."

He isn't sure Ten understands. But the Legislator seems more curious than alarmed.

"Ten?" he says.

Ten would have seen his fair share of humans during Bluestreak's Movie Night. Magnus assumes his question is more 'who?' than 'what?'

"Her designation is Verity Carlo," he explains.  
  
He could leave it at that but instead he tells Ten the whole story. How Verity came to stow away on his ship, their time together, how she called him Uncle Magnus.  
  
The reflection is bittersweet. It's been several years since he last saw her. A blink of an optic in his own lifespan but a more considerable amount in hers. After all humans age so quickly. Magnus wonders if she looks any different from the moment his avatar captured her likeness in perpetuity.  
  
He wonders if she's happy.  
  
He wonders if she misses him.  
  
Like he misses her. Often.  
  
Ten listens raptly to Magnus' stories. Verity would have liked Ten. She would have wanted to ride on his shoulder. She would have given him a nickname.  
  
Tenny. Tenster. Something creative Magnus would have never thought of. Something full of affection.  
  
Like Uncle Magnus.  
  
Suddenly it's too much.  
  
He deactivates Verity.  
  
"That's enough for today," he tells Ten softly.  
  
He returns to Ten's workshop some time later and is surprised to find a little Verity figure standing among the Magnuses, Minimuses and Tens. It's an exact miniature replica of his avatar except for one difference.  
  
It's smiling.  
  
Magnus has come to realize Ten often includes smiles in his artwork. A small piece of himself. After all Ten is always smiling.  
  
But in spite of this, the fact he's rendered Verity smiling, it strikes something deep within Minimus' core.  
  
Ten picks Verity up and offers her to Magnus for approval.  
  
"Ten?"  
  
Magnus accepts the figure. It fits in his hand much like the real Verity did.  
  
He knows it's no substitute for the original. Just like his avatar is no substitute.  
  
But it's something of Verity's likeness to cling onto. A likeness smiling up at him like the real Verity would.  
  
His fingers close protectively around Verity as his optics lift towards Ten in gratitude.  
  
"Thank you Ten."


	30. Perfect Fit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a Megs/Mags streak and needed to do something with Megs' mass displacement ;3

_Meet me in my quarters_ , Megatron had pinged Magnus, _without your Armor_.

Minimus had been puzzled. It wasn’t unusual for him to without the Armor on occasion now. But the fact Megatron had specifically requested it. He wasn’t sure what to make of it.

Nonetheless he complied.

But when he entered the co-Captain’s quarters, he found them noticeably empty.

“Megatron?”

Given the co-Captain’s size, he wasn’t an easy bot to miss. Especially with his quarters being sparsely furnished as they were, devoid of glamorous objects like Rodimus’ was.

“Up here,” Megatron’s voice sounded strangely small and far away.

Minimus craned his helm in the direction.

There he was, perched on his berth. A tiny version of Megatron.  

Minimus stared. No wonder he had missed him in his initial scan of the room.

But how?

"Mass displacement," Megatron answered the unspoken question and motioned Minimus over.

"Why?" he asked as his pedes seemed to reach the berth of their own accord.

Megatron reached down. His hand slipped perfectly around Minimus’ as he hauled him up onto the berth. Even in a smaller form, he seemed possess the same amount of strength.

"The thought occurred that it would make us a better fit,” he said as Minimus settled alongside him, trying not to stare too blatantly, “At least as far as your true self is concerned."

Minimus was at a loss for words. He had never imagined the possibility of Megatron shrinking himself to Minimus’ height.

"Do you disapprove?" Megatron broke the silence.

"No,” Minimus murmured.

He was intrigued, slightly overwhelmed and flattered. But not disapproving. Not until Megatron’s next words.

"Have you ever been with someone your own size?"

Minimus gave him a long suffering look. The kind he gave Rodimus, who was more inclined to ask these sort of questions.

“It is relevant?” he asked.

“I’m merely curious,” Megatron answered, “If we do end up interfacing I would like to know that I’m offering you a premier experience.”

Minimus flushed. He wished he had the conviction to nip Megatron’s intentions in the bud.

But he had interfaced with him inside the Magnus Armor and he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it.

Damn him if he wasn't curious what it would be like, now Megatron was his true size…

And the fact was, he had never…

“No,” he admitted aloud.

“Why is that?” Megatron asked, “You’re attractive. I’m sure quite a few minibots would agree with me. Or do your preferences lean towards larger mecha?”

“I’ve never had preference for size,” Minimus’ fans kicked in to compensate for the heat in his faceplates and made him splutter self-consciously as a result, “But I was never really interested in interfacing.”

Until Rodimus, he added mentally. But it hadn't been Rodimus' size that had led to them first interfacing. More Rodimus' sheer determination of will.

“There is something pleasurable about being with a person of your own size,” Megatron’s hand slid over Minimus’ own, interlocking their fingers, “The way you fit together.”

Minimus stared at the arrangement of their fingers. The fact he had never held hands with someone of the same size didn’t escape him. There was something pleasant about it.

“You weren’t ever curious?” Megatron’s voice broke him from his reverie.

“ _Pleasure is a distraction from the pursuit of truth_ ,” his brother’s words stumbled out of his mouth.

He disliked quoting Dominus. But those had been the words he'd once used to justify his lack of social life.

"Even your brother had Rewind,” Megatron said, proving he knew exactly who Minimus was quoting.

“Yes,” Minimus conceded, “And I recall him never mentioning the phrase again after he met him.”

Megatron hummed thoughtfully,

“Rewind is about your size…”

Minimus gaped at what he was implying,

"He was my brother's conjunx!"

Megatron’s mouth curved,

“You wonder why Rodimus teases you so much. You’re terribly easy to scandalize.”

Minimus responded with a huff.

"I'm sure Rewind had friends,” Megatron went on, “Fellow datasticks. None of them ever took your fancy?"

Minimus hesitated in giving a short ‘no’. There would be a hint of untruth about it. Something he was afraid of Megatron detecting and construing it the wrong way.

He ex-vented before admitting,

"I went on _a_ date with Rewind's amica. Eject. It was Dominus and Rewind's idea. They pushed me into it."

"And what happened?" Megatron asked, curiosity burning in his red optics.

Minimus grimaced,

"It was dreadful. He talked about sports the whole night. The statistical data was interesting, admittedly, but..."

"Not enough to tempt you into the berth?" Megatron’s voice was low chuckle.

Minimus stiffened,

“I wouldn't interface with someone on a first date," he said indignantly.

Megatron leaned in, shoulder pressing against Minimus’ as he murmured in his audio,

"You don't seem to be resisting too much presently."

Minimus squirmed as Megatron feathered kisses on the side of his helm.

"This isn't a date,” he stammered.

"No?" Megatron purred, "I requested your presence. You consented."

"But dates are usually social outings and uhh..."

He moaned as Megatron’s denta plucked a neck cable, free hand coming to rest flat on Minimus’ array. Rodimus' hand usually dwarfed his panel. But Megatron's hand pressed against it in perfect proportion. So did his denta around his cables. Rodimus' denta always gave him the feeling he was being mauled. It was the reason he preferred to interface with him as Magnus. It was easier to deal with Rodimus' lack of delicacy due to eagerness.

That, and when Rodimus whispered in his audio, it was always a thunderous stage-whisper. Megatron's voice was low and seductive by comparison.

"Would you rather I took you to Swerve's. Or the oil reservoir? Any of the distinctly unromantic locations the _Lost Light_ has to offer?"

"No," Minimus said distractedly, Megatron’s palm creating a tortuous rush of heat to his extremities, "Your quarters are acceptable given our c-current ahh..."

"Good," Megatron’s fingers teased the outline of his array, the perfect size to fit into the grooves, "Afterwards we can peruse any topic of conversation you like. Sports being strictly off-limits. Would that be acceptable?”

It was hardly appropriate procedure for a ‘date’. But Minimus was suddenly beyond caring. He gave a ragged little nod and opened his panel, allowing Megatron’s hand to curl around his spike.

Like everything about Megatron’s current size, it was perfect fit.


	31. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to Dreams.

Magnus onlined to Rodimus pawing at his face,

"What are you doing?" he complained.

Rodimus' hand stilled but he didn't answer. Magnus noticed the anxiety in his EM field, the way his frame was protectively wound against Magnus', helm buried in the crook of his neck.   

"What's wrong?" he asked with more concern.

"I had a dream you had no face," Rodimus whispered, "Like literally no face. It was all exosketeton or whatever."

His fingers resumed stroking Magnus' face. While Magnus sympathized, he didn't like being prodded in such a way. He gently seized Rodimus' fingers, shifting them to his chestplate.

"It was only a dream," he stroked Rodimus' hand.

Rodimus' EM field seemed to calm. His frame relaxed against Magnus'.

"I know. But it was really vivid. And Magnus, I had..." his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "A moustache."

Magnus frowned.

"What's wrong with a moustache?" 

"Nothing," Rodimus said hastily, "Actually it kinda suited me. Never knew I could rock purple paint either. But I wasn't a good guy Mags. I was an evil afthole."

Magnus felt him tensing again.

"It was a dream," he repeated, "I have a face. You don't have a moustache. You're not purple."

"You skipped evil,” Rodimus pointed out.

"You’re not evil,” Magnus couldn’t stop himself from adding, “You’re wicked sometimes. But that’s hardly the same thing.”

Rodimus laughed,

“You mean wicked in the berth right?”

Magnus ex-vented at the feeling of Rodimus’ hips grinding against him. At least he was feeling better.

“Go back to sleep Rodimus.”

He offlined his optics and hoped Rodimus would follow suit.

No such luck.

“Wait I didn’t tell you about my voice. I talked like dis, y’know. Like dis, Magnus. Ahm Rodimus.”  

Rodimus’ free hand came to poke Magnus’ cheek.

"Magnus youse still awake?”

“Go. To. Sleep.”


	32. Ravage

Megatron seemed like a preferable berth companion to Rodimus. He wasn't the type to wake Minimus mid-recharge to talk about his dreams, or cajole him into interface at some ungodly hour. When he recharged, he _recharged_ \- with Minimus doing the same beside him.

Until the weight of something on his chestplate woke him. Minimus onlined his optics to meet Ravage's red gaze, realizing he was pinned underneath the symbiont's claws.

"You're in my spot."

"Oh," Minimus said awkwardly, "I can... I can move."

"Don't bother," to Minimus' consternation, Ravage lowered himself into a resting position.

_On top of him._

Ravage appeared to smile.

"Your spark is warm, tiny mech," he said, voice borderline appreciative.

He lowered his helm and offlined to his optics.

Minimus lay underneath him panicking. Was this some kind of prank? Was Ravage doing this to purposely make him uncomfortable, punish him for stealing his spot on the berth?

One thing was certain he couldn't recharge like this. Not out of physical discomfort. He was a load bearer after all and could easily support Ravage's weight. But it was downright embarrassing.

But he couldn't quite summon up the courage to push the symbiont off. Those claws of his were more menacing when he was his true size.

So Minimus waited - hoped - that Ravage would end up moving off his own accord.

After all, his frame couldn't be as comfortable as the flat surface of the berth.

But Ravage didn't move - and Minimus spent a restless off-cycle trapped underneath him.

When Megatron onlined, his reaction was more faint mirth than sympathy, evident in the small curve of his mouth.

"Ravage," he admonished, "That's no way to treat a guest."

The symbiont stretched leisurely, claws scraping Minimus' plating as he did so.

"He's not _my_ guest," he replied, "Though he makes nice cushion."

Minimus' lip quivered in indignation,

_Cushion?_

"I would like to depart now please," he said, unable to keep to offended pitch out of his voice.

"Let him up," Megatron told Ravage.

The symbiont dallied a moment before complying. Minimus sat up with an irritated huff.

He allowed Megatron to lower him to the floor.

"I do apologise for my roommate's behavior," he said, the words redeeming him a little in Minimus' optics.

He supposed he couldn't blame Megatron for Ravage's actions.

The symbiont was unapologetic as he curled up in the very spot Minimus had vacated.

It seemed to reinforce Minimus' suspicion that Ravage had tortured him out of revenge for taking his place on Megatron's berth.

But Minimus didn't have the evidence or energy to accuse him. He made the long trudge back to his quarters.

Rodimus was there - recharging peacefully on his berth. Minimus wasn't sure why he hadn't opted to recharge in his own hab suite given Minimus' absence.

In the end it didn't matter. Rodimus' presence in his berth was at least familiar. After hauling himself up onto the berth, he carefully wedged himself under Rodimus' arm, doing his best not to wake him.

But all his effort was for naught - Rodimus stirred.

"Mags, that you?" he said, not bothering to online his optics but rather groping blindly at the smaller mech, bundling him against his chestplate, "Did you have a nice sleepover?"

"Not particularly," Minimus admitted.

Rodimus' optics suddenly onlined.

"Why?" he whispered excitedly, "Does Megs snore? Does he talk in his sleep?"

Minimus sighed. Now that Rodimus was alert, the odds of him letting Minimus recharge were slim to none.

He would also persist until Minimus gave him an answer.

"No and no," he said, "It wasn't so much Megatron as..."

He hesitated. He couldn't tell Rodimus about Ravage recharging on top of him.

"As what?" Rodimus prompted - before Minimus could formulate a response, he broke into a wide grin, "Oh, I see."

"See what?" Minimus said uneasily.

Primus, Ravage hadn't left any noticeable scratch marks on him?

"You missed me," Rodimus said gleefully.

He rocked Minimus against his chestplate.

"Aww that's so sweet. I missed you too babe."

Minimus grimaced at the endearment - one Rodimus had picked up after watching too many Earth movies.

"Don't call me..."

Rodimus silenced him with a loud kiss to his helm.

"No more sleepovers," he said sternly, "I barely got any recharge without you here."

"You were recharging when I came in."

"Pfft," Rodimus scoffed, "I offlined my optics for a few kliks. That hardly counts."

He sighed deeply,

"Now I'm far too tired to write up that report I owe you."

Minimus huffed,

"You probably weren't going to do it anyway."

Rodimus grinned against his helm,

"Yes but now I have an excuse."

Minimus had to admit it was a more valid excuse that Rodimus getting caught up in a game of fullstasis.

Besides, he still needed to recharge. It was easier for him to do so snuggled against Rodimus' chestplate than trapped underneath Ravage.

"Yes," Rodimus murmured approvingly, "This is much better."

Minimus silently agreed with him.


	33. Pep Talk

"Mags," Rodimus asks quietly out of the blue, "Y'know how I didn't realize who you were on Luna 1."

Magnus glances up from his report.

"You mean when you first saw me as Minimus Ambus?"

Rodimus nods, expression unusually solemn,

"Did that upset you?"

Magnus is taken aback,

"I... Why do you ask?"

Rodimus shrugs, more out of reflex than actual incomprehension behind his reasoning,

"Because... Well Rung clued onto it really quickly and I... I had more to do with you than he ever did."

"Rung is trained in identifying patterns of behavior," Magnus answers, "And you... You were distracted by the situation."

Rodimus gives a small hum of agreement,

"But were you upset?" he repeats.

"In all honesty," Magnus says, "The fact you didn't recognize me was a relief."

"Because you didn't want your secret identity found out?" Rodimus asks.

"Not only that," Magnus admits reluctantly, "It was a relief that you didn't recognize me as a member of House Ambus. You remember that Chromedome recognized my facial insignia."

"Yeah. Cuz it reminded him of Rewind's conjunx."

"Precisely," Magnus glances back as the report. It's easier to focus on the screen than Rodimus' face as he gives voice to feelings that until now he's kept closely hidden, "Most people who knew my brother, or knew of him, looking at me that's always who they see. Someone who reminds them of Dominus Ambus. That's the way it's been my whole life."

His fingers nudge at the borders of the datapad. It reminds him of all those cycles desperately cramming knowledge into his helm. Trying to keep up with Dominus, always falling short, never achieving the scholastic success that seemed to come so easily to his brother.

His fist clenches of its own accord.

"So it was a relief when you didn't recognize me at all," he forces himself onward, to finish his point, "I wasn't Dominus Ambus' brother to you. I was a stranger but I was also my own person."

He dares to glance at Rodimus, to see his expression. It's solemn and while he's grateful that Rodimus is capable of feeling the right amount of gravity for the situation, he feels guilty for forcing him into the role of emotional confidant.

"Pardon me for saying this but it was the first time I was grateful for your ignorance."

It's a terrible attempt at levity. But Magnus has always been bad at making light of situations. Especially ones pertaining to himself.

The statement could be construed as incredibly offensive. Any other superior officer would be well within their rights to penalize him for it.

But not Rodimus. He smiles, not hugely, but to enough to allay Magnus' fears that he's offended him.

"Well y'know what they say. Ignorance is bliss."

Magnus expects him to swivel the conversation in a more upbeat direction. But the humor vanishes on the Captain's face as quickly as it emerged.

He reaches for Magnus' shoulder.

"But seriously, I know about Dominus now..."

Minimus sighs,

"Yes he was a remarkable person," he intones.

He's spoken similar lines countless times at social events in his youth, each time mecha would approach him singing praises for his brother. Minimus would agree, knowing his brother deserved their compliments, knowing it was his own fault that he paled in comparison.

Now Rodimus is among the converted, aware of his brother's deeds, how amazing he was.

Magnus is so convinced that Rodimus' next words take him by complete surprise.

"He doesn't come close to how awesome you are."

Magnus is moved, more moved than he has the ability to express. But it's hard for him to accept the statement as truth.

"I appreciate that," he says, "But you're likely swayed by bias."

"Well maybe a little," Rodimus admits, "But you can't deny you've done some amazing things."

"As Ultra Magnus."

Most of his accomplishments were done under the guise of Ultra Magnus. Even his article he's most proud of, typefaces in the Autobot Code, doesn't bear the designation Minimus Ambus. If it had, readers would no doubt compare it to  _The Ascetic Cybertronian_ and his brother's other works.

"But people know you’re Ultra Magnus now," Rodimus points out, "The stuff you did and will do under his designation will be remembered as your stuff."

His fingers move to stroke Magnus' arm,

"Mags, I know how hard it is to be held up against someone else," he says softly," I know when people see me they compare me to Optimus. Unfavorably I might add."

He leans in towards Magnus' audio,

“But you know what?" he whispers with conviction, "Frag 'em. We don't have to live up to anyone else's perfect standard. We're gonna find the Knights. We're gonna kick this quest's aft. Not Optimus and Dominus. You and me."

He pulls back and grins at Magnus. At the tiny mech inside the Armor.

For the first time in his life he no longer feels swallowed by his brother's shadow. There's only a bright new path ahead. One he will walk as Minimus Ambus, but not alone.


	34. Primal Vanguard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I liked the idea of Minimus actually meeting the original Ultra Magnus once in his life.

It’s his way out. That’s how Minimus sees it. A way off Cybertron. A way out from under his brother’s shadow. A way to prove himself in his own right.

That’s why he’s standing in the parlor of his cousin Celsus’ house. In front of Celsus and Delta Magnus, both high ranking members of the Primal Vanguard. Delta, the company’s leader, Celsus, his first lieutenant.

There’s another large mech sitting on Delta’s right. Minimus presumes by the shape of his helm and his similar size that he belongs to Delta’s house. Minimus acknowledges him a slight helm tilt that the stranger returns, albeit rather severely before Minimus’ attention is called back to Celsus,

“I confess I wasn’t expecting you,” he says, “I thought it was Dominus who intended to visit.’

“I messaged you on my own frequency,” Minimus says, as politely as possible, trying not to show offence at his own family member seeing him as his brother’s secretary.

Even within his own House, Dominus is more popular by reputation. But Ambuses are known for observing propriety. Celsus is no exception. While no apology is offered for the oversight, he doesn’t ask him to leave.

“This is Minimus,” he informs his other two guests, “Dominus’ spark brother.”

Delta squints down at him with a smile,

“Oh of course they’re so alike,” he says, before asking the inevitable question, “How is your brother?”

“Well,” Minimus says, the trademark response he always gives.

At least Delta doesn’t inquire into what his brother is working on. 

“Glorious, glorious,” he says before motioning at the unknown mech, “This is my own brother, Ultra Magnus.”

Ultra Magnus offers a clipped greeting in a voice as imposing as his frame. Looking between him and Delta, Minimus can’t help but envying them. Brothers who are physical equals, unlike himself and Dominus.

No one else in House Ambus shares his height. Least of Celsus, who is one of the tallest in his House, a fact noticeable even seated. He and Delta are almost helm for helm though he lacks his leader’s width. His faceplates are blue as opposed to Minimus’ green – hence his nickname Blue Ambus.

“So what do we owe the pleasure Minimus?” he asks.

Minimus straightens his backstrut, helm held high,

“I came to request that you endorse my application to the Primal Vanguard.”

“You,” Celsus exclaims, “The Primal Vanguard? You?”

He breaks into laughter along with Delta. Minimus cringes. Of course they think it’s a joke.

Ultra Magnus doesn’t share their amusement. He remains completely stoic.

“I believe he’s serious,” his observation cuts through the guffaws.

Celsus blinks at Minimus.

“You are?”

“Of course,” Minimus does his best to keep the indignation out of his voice.

Celsus slumps back in his chair,

“But Minimus, you…” he searches for words, “You’re not a soldier.”

“I’m a fast learner,” Minimus says, “With proper training, I see no reason why I shouldn’t be fit for combat.”

Celsus and Delta share a glance,

“You’re… How shall I put this?” Delta gestures with his hands, “Small.”

“I may be small,” Minimus concedes, “But I’m a Point One Percenter. I’m fully capable of carrying standard-issue weaponry. I’m happy to give a demonstration should you require it.”

“But you’ve never held a gun?” Delta enquires, “Operated one?”

“No. But I expect many entry-level soldiers don’t handle weapons prior to their training.”

“He has a point,” Delta looks at Celsus.

“True,” Celsus motions at Minimus, “But he has no alt mode.”

Delta reacts with surprise,

“None at all?”

“Minimus is alt mode exempt."

“Ah,” Delta says and that small word of understanding makes Minimus boil with shame.

One only has to look at his frame, more reminiscent of the disposable class, and comprehend why the Council had classified him with an exemption.

A noble sharing the same alt mode as one of the lower classes, it just wasn’t… proper.

His lips press together tightly as Delta turns to look at him,

“My dear little fellow, we can hardly have someone in our ranks who lacks a mobility-based alt mode,” he smiles, as though he thinks it will lighten the blow, “You can hardly expect us to carry you, though I suppose you would be light.”

“I thought, if you approved my application, my alt mode exemption would be lifted and I would be allowed to receive one,” Minimus admits hopefully, “Perhaps a small vehicle mode.”

“You cannot say for certain,” Celsus points out.

Minimus feels the opportunity slipping through his fingers,

“Please,” he says, “I… I’m very good at datawork. Inventory. Reports. I’ll clean the weaponry if you wish me to. I’ll refrain from battle situations until you’ve deemed me fit. Just allow me a chance to prove myself.”

Celsus and Delta share another glance. Minimus can tell by the look on their faces they aren’t convinced.

“I’m sorry Minimus,” Celsus confirms, “But I’m afraid you’re too much of a liability. Besides, I think your brother would prefer you kept out of danger.”

Minimus clenches his fists,

“My brother doesn’t control my life,” he can’t quite hold back the bitterness in his voice, “I can make my own decisions.”

Celsus’ blue face hardens slightly,

“And I have given you mine,” he says firmly, “Though of course, Delta is within his right to overrule me.”

But Minimus already knows he won’t.

Delta’s expression is conciliatory,

“I’m afraid I have to agree, old sport,” he tells Minimus, “You just aren’t Primal Vanguard material.”

Minimus struggles to hold back his disappointment.

The story of his life. Just not good enough.

Celsus has risen, a gesture designed to coax Minimus out the door.

“Please give my regards to Dominus.”

Minimus nods mutely. He doesn’t make an effort to speak, his voice would wobble too much.

“I should be on my way as well,” Ultra Magnus’ voice is somewhat startling. He has been silent this whole interview and Minimus has almost forgotten his presence.

By contrast, walking with him towards the front entrance, Minimus can’t help but notice his immense height. But he tries not to stare. He dislikes being stared at himself – though he supposes being stared at for being tall wouldn’t feel quite so inferior.

“Minimus Ambus,” Ultra Magnus’ voice startles him once again - Minimus cranes his helm upwards, red optics meeting stern blue, “There are other means to travel off-world. Not simply the Primal Vanguard. There is an opening for the captain of a transport ship, the _Aurelia_. It's primary cargo is energon derivatives.”  

“Are you involved in imports?” Minimus asks, wondering why Magnus is even telling him this at all.

“Law enforcement,” Magnus answers, “I arrested the previous Captain for contraband.”

Minimus isn’t surprised. Magnus seems to have the personality and physique suited for that type of occupation.

“I believe it might be worth putting down your designation as a replacement,” Magnus continues, “It's an administrative post, with an emphasis on inventory. They’ll be looking for someone with less criminal ambition, which I assume given your clean record…”

“How do you know I have a clean record?”

“I cross-referenced your designation with the criminal database while you were speaking with my brother and Celsus.”

“Oh,” Minimus realizes he should perhaps feel offended but he’s more curious, “Why are you helping me?”

They reach the edge of Celsus’ estate and stop.

Magnus’ piercing blue optics regard him silently for a moment,

“Everyone deserves a chance to prove themselves," he answers, “Good luck, Minimus Ambus.”

“Y-yes,” Minimus stammers, slightly overwhelmed by the other mech’s words, “Thank you.”

He watches the giant lawmech stride away before turning for home himself. For once he’s not filled with dread, the sense of crawling back under his brother’s shadow. There’s a lightness in his spark surging him forward, a sense he’s about to seize his own destiny.

“Did you have a nice walk?” Dominus asks when he returns home.

Minimus actually comes close to smiling.

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think that Pre-War Magnus would have been a cop, much like Orion Pax and he only got his famous reputation during the war. Before that he wasn't that well-known and Delta was the more famous brother (hmm, sounds familiar). And Delta strikes me as being the Thunder Clash of his time with his catch phrase of 'glorious'.
> 
> Celsus is an OC, aside from having a blue face, he's kinda an aft :(


	35. Froidian Slip

"Okay," Rodimus said in the midst of Magnus' current state of despair, "You are making way too big a deal about this."

"But it was _improper_ ," Magnus lamented, "Addressing you that way. In public."

"Mags," Rodimus came to grasp his arm, "And please note I am calling you _Mags_. All you did was call me..."

"Don't say it," Magnus pleaded, causing Rodimus to huff.

"It's not that bad," he pressed, "As far as names go, it's hardly the worst I've been called."

"Everybody laughed."

"Of course they laughed. It was unexpected. Like seeing me doing a handstand... Okay bad example. But when people do or say things others don't expect it's funny," his fingers rubbed Magnus' plating, "They were laughing with you."

"I wasn't laughing."

"It's an expression," Rodimus huffed again, "Laughing with you as opposed to laughing at you."

"I fail to see the difference."

Rodimus sighed,

"Yeah I know you do."

"This is why you shouldn't paw at me in public," Magnus mumbled, "You know it makes me... flustered."

Rodimus drew his hand away to place it on his hips.

"Oh," he said, "So it's my fault that you said 'stop that Roddy' instead of 'stop that Rodimus'?"

Magnus grimaced,

"So _informal_ ," he hissed through his denta, "Calling you that. Don't know why I..."

His helm came to rest on top of his desk as though it was too weighed down by shame.

"Mags, c'mon," Rodimus tweaked his antenna, "I hate being the least ridiculous one in the relationship."

Magnus didn't respond. Rodimus could faintly hearing him muttering to himself.

"You know you can actually see this as an achievement," he tried to a different tact.

Magnus' helm lifted off the desk in protest,

"How could this possibly be viewed as an achievement?"

"What do I call you?" Rodimus said, "Mags right?"

"Yes," Magnus conceded, "But you're known for being informal..."

Rodimus held up his hand,

"That's not my point. What does Rewind call Chromedome? Domey right?"

"Yes."

"Mainframe calls Jackpot Jackie," Rodimus went on, "Springer calls First Aid Aid. I'm sure Drift and Ratchet have really sickeningly sweet petnames they call each other in private."

"That's conjecture," Magnus muttered.

"This isn't a courtroom," Rodimus said, "Bottom line is, what do all these mecha have in common?"

"There is an obvious answer," Magnus replied, "But to be thorough I'll cross-reference their records..."

"Not necessary," Rodimus intervened before Magnus made this overly complicated.

He spread his arms with a smile,

"They're _couples_. Magnus, couples call each other petnames. Hell, _amica_ call each other petnames. It's endearing."

"Endearing?" Magnus echoed.

"Yes. I don't call you Mags just to annoy you... Well I did at the start but now it's more affectionate. Like you calling me Roddy."

Magnus was silent a moment,

"But I was angry at you when I said it. How can you class it as affectionate?"

Rodimus shrugged,

"Rewind still says Domey when he's angry," he said, "But in your case, I think it's more an example of a Froidian slip."

"Froidian slip?"

"Yeah. Rung was telling me - according to him it should actually be called a Rungian slip but anyway. A Froidian slip is when you - how did he put it again? I was half listening at the time, oh yeah - a Froidian slip is when you accidentally say something that reveals what your subconsciousness is feeling."

Rodimus looked rather pleased at recalling the explanation.

Magnus, on the other hand, was confused.

"So you're saying that my... subconsciousness wanted me to call you Roddy?"

"Well... Yeah," Rodimus answered, "To show how much you care about me, even though you were angry. Which is sweet by the way."

He moved to kiss the side of Magnus' helm,

"So stop moping about how you destroyed all your credibility by saying one informal thing in your life, blab blah, blah, and just enjoy this moment of... uh... Personal growth."

Magnus straightened,

"When you put it that way," he didn't quite smile but his EM field was calm, "It's not so bad."

Rodimus shifted himself onto his lap,

"That's the spirit."

"Is it silly though," Magnus couldn't help adding as Rodimus got comfortable.

"No sillier than any other petname out there," Rodimus said, "And admittedly if anyone else said it, I'd object. But I like you saying it."

He relaxed contently in the grove of Magnus' lap.

"Though it does make me think I need to step up my game. Think of something different to Mags."

"That's not necessary."

Rodimus swiveled to show Magnus his sly expression.

"Sweetspark?"

"Not in public."

"Cute aft?"

"No."

"Ultra Hotness?"

"No."

"Minimus Sexy-mus?"

"Please stop."

"Uh, I think you're missing a word there."

"Please stop... Roddy."

"Better," Rodimus leaned up to kiss him, "Mags."


	36. Shattered Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My attempt at SG Minimus, who is different to SG No-Face Ultra Magnus who I see as more the counterpart to the original Magnus. Plus I got to write SG Rodimus' silly accent, which is fun to write :)

"Minimus," Celsus scooped his cousin in a hug, "I trust you had a safe journey?"

"Well enough," Minimus glanced back at buymech lingering inside his personal transport. The mech waved at them coquettishly, "Though I did have the right company."

Celsus grinned,

"I hope your companion didn't wear you out too much," he said as he lead Minimus inside his penthouse with a hand on his shoulder, "I did arrange a welcoming present."

"How thoughtful," Minimus smiled back, "Though I did hear a rumor that the Nyonese are a little on the coarse side."

Celsus laughed,

"Their accents maybe. But they are hardly from Rodion."

"So you're enjoying your governorship?" Minimus inquired.

"It took some adjustment," Celsus huffed, "Nyon is hardly Translucentica Heights."

"Yes I could see that from the aerial perspective," Minimus commented, "Though I did glimpse race tracks."

"Racing is a favored pastime here," Celsus explained, "In fact allow me to introduce you to one of our esteemed racers."

He pushed back a mesh curtain to reveal a fiery colored mech. He was lying spread-legged on a large berth, knocking back engex without a care in the world.

"This is Hot Rod," Celsus introduced.

The mech frowned,

"Rahdamus."

"Forgive me _Rodimus,_ " Celsus turned to Minimus, "It's a recent moniker he's taken up."

Rodimus grinned at Minimus,

"Suits me better, don't youse think?"

Minimus grimaced. The mech himself was attractive, but that _voice_.

"Tell me that accent is fake," he begged Celsus.

Rodimus laughed,

"Notin' fake about me baby."

Celsus grasped Minimus' shoulder,

"I know he's not as high class as you're used to. But he's amusing. And pretty," he pulled away, "I'll leave you to get to know each other."

"My things?" Minimus called after him.

"I'll have them brought to you," Celsus said with a knowing smirk.

He closed the curtain behind him.

Rodimus sat up a little, leering at Minimus from across the room. Minimus stared back undaunted. He'd encountered more intimidating shareware in his time.

"So you're a racer," he said.

"Yup," Rodimus took another swig of engex, "Fer now."

"For now?"

Rodimus sat up a little straighter with conviction,

"Ahm gonna be Prime one day."

Minimus blinked at him.

"You? A Prime?" he began to chuckle.

"Wat's so funny 'bout dat?" Rodimus scowled.

"Oh nothing," Minimus said, still chuckling, "Just the idea of a buymech becoming Prime."

"Ain't no buymech," Rodimus continued to scowl, "Interfacin's just a hobby 'o mine."

Minimus stroked his facial insignia,

"Then we seem ideally suited."

"Ha," Rodimus opened his legs a little wider, one hand moving to caress his panel, "Think youse can handle me tiny bot?"

Minimus affected a pitying look,

"I think you should be asking yourself the same question," he said, "You haven't seen my box of toys."

As if on cue Celsus' butler arrived with Minimus' luggage. Rodimus curiously craned his helm. Minimus ignored him as opened the first case and pulled out a ball gag. 

"This first I think," he said, "Your accent is intolerable."

Rodimus gulped down the last of his engex before scooting forward on his hands and knees. He lowered his helm to Minimus' height as he approached with the ball gag,  

"Do yous worst little bot," he taunted.

Minimus shoved the ball into Rodimus' waiting mouth.

"With pleasure."

And it did give him pleasure, stuffing Rodimus' valve with various sized spikes, which the racer received with enthusiasm until he realized they all vibrated at too low an intensity to bring him to overload - even with Minimus tickling his fingers over his swollen anterior node, pausing at intervals to deny him climax.

"Mffffmmmppfff," Rodimus sobbed around the gag, oral lubricant trickling down on his chin - previous insolence non-existent.

Minimus unclasped the gag and removed the ball.

"Oh Gawd, lemme 'load," Rodimus babbled, "Please. _Please_."

"Pleading suits you," Minimus hummed, "Though it's hardly a fitting characteristic of a Prime."

"D-damn youse," Rodimus' voice fluctuated between anger and agony.

"I can always stop," Minimus crooned.

Fear lit up Rodimus' optics,

"Naw, naw, I'll be good," he wriggled desperately like a petrorabbit caught in a snare, "Please boss please"

Boss? It was hardly Sir or Master Ambus, any of the titles Minimus was used to. But coming from Rodimus' vocaliser, Minimus decided he liked it well enough.

"Very well," he said and mercifully bought Rodimus to overload.

Afterwards Rodimus flopped face first into the mesh pillows, transfluid pooling around his knees as Minimus worked the spikes from his valve.

"Not bad for a tiny bot?"

Rodimus moaned into the pillow as the last spike was drawn out. He rolled over on his back,

"Just lemme catch my breath and I'll do youse."

Minimus abandoned the fake spikes, cleaning his hands fastidiously before he poured himself a glass of engex,

"Take your time. I'm not leaving anytime soon."

"Why youse come here anyway?" Rodimus asked breathily.

Minimus frowned as he raised the quadruple distilled engex to his lips,

"My brother and I had a clash of opinions," he murmured, "He's the senatorial representative of our House. He dislikes me bringing shame to our family with my... lifestyle."

It was also the reason Celsus had been assigned the governorship of Nyon. He was a similar embarrassment with his lack of ambition.

Minimus supposed at least his brother hadn't exiled them to Kaon - or the Institute for re-programming - something Dominus had been threatening if Minimus refused to join Celsus in Nyon. He needn't have bothered. Minimus was fed up with his brother's constant criticisms anyway - accusing him of riding his coattails when it suited him, using their House to gain access to the finest nightclubs, using ancestral wealth to fund his penchant for high class buymechs.

Well what else was he supposed to do, Minimus thought angrily. He was alt mode exempt, not that he had any interest in working. A life of leisure was all that he could hope to achieve and yet when he attempted to simply live his life, Dominus condemned him for indiscretion.

He rejoined Rodimus on the berth. The racer shifted closer, face nuzzling against Minimus' flank.

"Youse lifestyle don't seem half bad ta me," he said, optics rolling up to meet Minimus', "Youse really think I can't be Prime?"

"I never said you couldn't be a Prime. Only that your background is... unorthodox."

"Maybe I should get a 'stache like youse," Rodimus grinned, "Make myself look dignified."

"Only the house of Ambus are allowed to bear this facial insignia," Minimus said, somewhat haughtily.

Rodimus stretched languidly in response,

"So adopt me."

Minimus chuckled,

"Oh I'm sure my brother would love that."

It would probably give him a spark attack.

"Frag youse brother," Rodimus purred, "I can make it worth youse while."

Minimus shook his helm,

"We'll really have to work on your pronunciation."

"Heh meybe," Rodimus said, "But first lemme show youse what I can do."

He wedged his face eagerly between Minimus' small thighs. Minimus opened his panel, allowing Rodimus' tongue to probe the tiny slit of his valve. He arched with a small sigh of pleasure.

Well Dominus had told him to find a hobby.

Helping elevate a lowly Nyonese racer to become a potential Prime. That was something that would put him in the history books.


	37. Shattered Glass II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More SG Minimus stuff. Featuring crazy SG Op, Rahdamus, crazy Ratchet and poor (poor, poor) Drift.

The DMF wasn't guarded by any security detail. There was no need. No mecha in their right mind would trepass on the premises. Minimus would have gladly avoided the chamber of horrors himself.

But Rodimus was somewhere in the bowels of the medical facility. Prime had informed Minimus himself. The speedster had earnt his displeasure, siding with Ultra Magnus in a failed coup. The latter had fled after literally losing his face to Optimus. Rodimus had been captured however - after sustaining severe damage to one of his hands.

"I've sent him to Ratchet for repairs," the Prime told Minimus - a shiver running up the smaller mech's backstrut. He knew very well that by 'repairs', Prime meant 'experimentation'.

He forced himself to bow,

"I'm very grateful," he replied, "I hope you don't believe I had any hand in the coup. It's come as quite a shock to me."

"As it did me, Ambus," the Prime rumbled, "I once counted Magnus as a brother and he has rewarded me with treachery. I will not suffer traitors in my ranks!"

"Of course not," Minimus agreed hastily - before the Prime could descend into one of his unpredictable mood swings, "I promise you Rodimus will have no further involvement with the likes of Magnus."

The Prime studied him, optics fierce, mouth inscrutable beneath his battlemask.

"See that he doesn't," he growled, "Otherwise repairs will be the least of his worries."

Minimus nodded,

"May I see him?" he asked, in the most polite tone he could muster.

"You may," there was a mocking note to the Prime's voice, "I'm sure Ratchet will be all too pleased to have an audience for his handiwork."

Minimus tried to ignore a second shudder up his backstrut as he bowed once more,

"You are most gracious," he murmured.

Optimus' shadow loomed over him,

"You may have financed my campaign Ambus," he boomed down at Minimus' bowed helm, "But if I find you're in any way involved with Magnus - or any other rival faction seeking to undermine me - I won't hesitate in destroying you. You _and_ the degenerate you take to your berth."

"As is your right," Minimus answered, "Will that be all my Prime?"

He heard the menacing rustle of the Prime's cape as he turned away.

"Dismissed," he said and Minimus hurried from his chamber.

And now here he was - venturing inside the deceptively innocent looking entrance to the DMF.

It was there he found the facility's single unofficial sentry.

"Drift," he said.

Minimus had met him once before, in a carnal sense. But the creature in front of him bore little resemblance to the buymech of the past. His beautiful helm had been subjected to Empurata, his backstrut hunched so he resembled a bipedal mechanimal, an image enforced by the addition of a barbed tail. Then there were the blades protruding from the stumps of his amputated arms.

All Ratchet's handiwork, a product of his twisted imagination.

Drift hopped to and fro in the dimly-lit hallway.

"Syk?"

"No," Minimus said sympathetically, "Where is your master?"

Drift hopped about more erratically,

"Syk?"

"No I don't have any," Minimus said more firmly.

Without warning Drift jumped the distance between them and screamed in Minimus' face.

Minimus stumbled back, wary of the blades, the barbed tail.

"Drift," a voice halted the creature with a chuckle, "That's no way to speak to a guest."

Minimus heaved a relieved vent as Drift retreated to Ratchet's side.

"My apologies," the medic smiled at Minimus in an illusion of geniality, "He gets cranky without his fix."

He stroked the top of Drift's helm,

"I've been so busy with my latest patient, I haven't had time to feed him."

"Syk," Drift whimpered hoarsely.

"All in good time pet," Ratchet said cheerfully, "I assume Senator Ambus is here to see Rodimus. Fortunate timing I must say, I've just finished the procedure."

"Procedure?" Minimus echoed.

"Come," Ratchet motioned gleefully, "I'll show you."

He took off down a corridor, Drift loping after him. Minimus took a shuddering intake and followed.

Rodimus was still on the operating slab - conscious and much to Minimus' relief recognizable. There was only one noticeable difference.

"Mimi," he cried at the sight of Minimus, "Look what dis quack has done ta my hand!"

Ratchet huffed,

"So ungrateful," he turned to Minimus,  "A sawblade is a much more interesting than an ordinary hand."

Rodimus pulled against his restraints,

"Frag yous, slaggin' piece a'..."

"Enough Rodimus," Minimus cut over the top of him, "Don't insult the Doctor's work."

Rodimus stared at him wildly,

"Yous actually agreein' wid dis madmech?"

"Mad mech?" Ratchet's mouth formed a theatrical pout, "Is it mad to make the world more interesting? Take Drift, he was so pretty and boring when I met him. Now look at him, he's so... _unique_. One of a kind."

"He's a hideous fraggin' monster," Rodimus snarled, "Lemme me outta these restraints."

"Calm down," Minimus told him, "I'm sure the Doctor will free you momentarily. After all the procedure is finished?"

"I suppose so," Ratchet conceded with a sigh, "Optimus only instructed me to fix his hand."

"Fix?" Rodimus bellowed, "FIX? You call dis fixin'?"

"Rodimus, you're hardly in a position to argue," Minimus pointed out, "The restraints, if you would be so kind Ratchet."

"Oh it would be my pleasure," Ratchet tittered, seeming to delight in the fact Rodimus flinched as he drew closer, "You know I'm sure I could find a mini sawblade if you're interesting in upgrading, Minimus, then you and Rodimus could be twins."

"A tempting offer," Minimus said as Ratchet released Rodimus, "I'll give it some thought."

"Please do," Ratchet smiled, "Now if you'll excuse me, Drift is in need of feeding. I'm sure you can find your own way out."

"Come on," Minimus caught hurriedly Rodimus' attention. He didn't like the way he was watching the medic's retreating back - Drift at his flank chattering happily. Attacking him would be another mistake in a series of stupid mistakes, "Let's go."

Thankfully Rodimus seemed to see sense.

"Yeah let's get outta dis hellhole."

But as soon as the two were clear of the facility he turned to Minimus with a look of betrayal,

"What da frag Mimi?" he demanded, "Youse see wat dat slagger does ta me and youse take his side?"

"What else could I do?" Minimus argued, "Make a fuss and have him report it to Prime. You need to think more clearly Rodimus."

Rodimus' optics widened. His expression turned more sheepish,

"Youse angry 'bout da coup?"

"Of course I am," Minimus huffed, "It was a stupid decision. One that could have ended with you taking a dip in the smelting pool."

He reached out to touch Rodimus' arm,

"At least this is fixable," he said quietly, "We can source you another hand. But next time Optimus isn't going to be so forgiving. You need to stop taking unnecessary gambles."

Rodimus clenched the fist of his remaining hand,

"Sick a' waitin' Mimi. I deserve ta be Prime."

"You will be Prime," Minimus murmured, "But only if we play things smart. Do you remember what I said after Optimus asked us to join him?"

Rodimus ex-vented,

"Comin' second ain't same as losin'." 

"Precisely," Minimus said, "Which is why we helped Optimus become Prime. So we could oneday overthrow him."

He vividly remembered the cycle Optimus had arrived at Celsus' home in Nyon - Magnus at his side. He had asked - demanded really - that Minimus provide financial backing for his campaign to seize control of Iacon. In return he had promised him a seat on his new senate. A puppet senate of course - Optimus wielded supreme power as Prime - unlike it's predecessor where senators like his brother had exercised considerable influence.

But look where that had landed him, in exile offworld and he was one of the lucky ones. Many of his fellow senators were offline. Only a few like Shockwave, who had been wiley enough to switch sides, continued to hold their titles alongside Minimus.

Minimus knew the value of patience - he would happily continue serving as a puppet senator if it meant eventually succeeding in his goal. Rodimus as Prime, Minimus helping him rule from the background.

He stroked his lover's arm,

"Until that opportunity arrives we have to show our loyalty in any way we can. Do you understand my love?"

Rodimus pouted a moment before nodding,

"Yeah, I getcha."

"Kiss me then," Minimus demanded.

Rodimus' face split into a grin as he bent down.

"At least Ratchet didn't hurt your face," Minimus said, tracing his fingers over Rodimus' facial insignia.

Rodimus leered at him,

"Didn't touch my frag bits neither."

"Thank Primus," Minimus said with genuine relief, "I say we return home and celebrate this fact."

"Youse don't mind fraggin' a guy wid a sawblade for a hand?"

"Not particularly," Minimus mused, "In fact it might lend an erotic element of danger."

Rodimus responded with a chuckle,

"Kinky fragger," he said, "Youse might even beg me ta keep it."

Minimus smirked,

"There's only one way to find out."


	38. Magpod

"Oh good you're here," Rodimus shot Magnus a smile as he entered his office.

It wasn't the reaction Magnus had been expected. He had arrived to collect Rodimus' weekly report, something that was usually met with a recycled list of excuses.

Or Rodimus playing dead. 

This time he was hunched over a datapad, stylus in hand. Magnus dared hope he was actually finishing off a report for once.

But then Rodimus showed him the contents. It was a sketch of his helm, with strange anatomical notes like 'laser canons?' and arrows pointing to his antenna.

"What is this?" Magnus asked dubiously.

"Schematics for a new shuttle," Rodimus said excitedly.

Suddenly the notes made sense. The arrows marking the optics as 'bridge' and was that - yes if he squinted he could make out a tiny Rodimus-shaped figure standing in one of the optics.

Magnus wasn't quite sure how to react.

"It's my likeness," he ended up stating lamely.

"Duh," Rodimus grinned.

"But... why?"

"Originally I wanted to make a Rodpod 2.0. But you can't improve on perfection. So I decided to try my hand at a different aesthetic."

Magnus felt a frown nudging at his mouth. As nice as it was for Rodimus to use him as a model, encouraging even - his inventions usually bore his own resemblance and this perhaps a sign of growth – it was still embarrassing.

He could only imagine the jokes the crew would make about a shuttle-sized of copy of his helm.

"Rodimus I'm... flattered. But I don't really feel comfortable with you using my likeness to..."

"Oh c'mon Mags, no need to be shy," Rodimus crooned, "People are gonna love the Magpod."

Magnus cringed more deeply,

"Magpod?"

"That's the name I'm testing it out," Rodimus said, "You know, Rodpod, Magpod, makes linear sense."

He sighed,

"I admit it doesn't quite roll off the vocalizer though," he joined Magnus in frowning, "It's a shame Mags doesn't really rhyme with anything shuttle-related."

Magnus felt a flicker of hope that Rodimus might abandon the project on that very principle.

But then Rodimus grabbed his arm,

"Help me brainstorm," he whined, "I'm sure between the two of us we can... What about Magnus 1?"

Magnus supposed that was slightly better than Magpod - though not enough to win him over to the overall idea.

"Rodimus..." he attempted to finish his original protest.

"I know what you mean," Rodimus cut over him, "It does remind me of Luna 1. What about the Flying Magnus?"

Magnus grimaced. So did Rodimus,

"Bit of a mouthful isn't it. Damn, let me think..."

Magnus decided it was time to call in backup. He pinged Megatron.

::What?:: Megatron answered in a very 'you are interrupting me' sort of voice.

::Rodimus is planning on building another shuttle.::

Megatron ex-vented over the comm. The sound filled Magnus with relief.

::Let me guess,:: Megatron continued, ::You want me to overrule it's construction?::

::I would appreciate it.:: Magnus said, happy to avoid the more embarrassing details, ::Thank you.::

Megatron disengaged their comm with a grumble. Magnus became aware of the hand waving in front of his optics.

"Are you listening Mags. What do you think of Magnus Cruiser?"

Magnus answered with another grimace. The words Magnus and Cruise didn't go together. Neither did his helm and shuttle. 

"No?" Rodimus sounded genuinely distressed, "Why is this so hard? Usually I'm really good at coming up with names. Am I losing my creative edge? I can't lose my creativity Magnus, that's a big part of my mystique!"

Magnus felt a small wave of guilt as he thought about Megatron's impending intervention. Rodimus was stressing himself over a project that would never come to fruition.

"Why don't you work on something else for a while," he suggested, "Like your report. It might help you with your... inspiration."

"Yeah maybe," Rodimus muttered, "Though I'm far too stressed to do my report.  I might play full stasis or something."

Magnus wondered if this whole scenario had been a manipulation to get out of writing the report. Rodimus had gone to similarly ridiculous lengths in the past. But he did look sincerely mournful. Magnus decided to give him the benefit of a doubt.

Besides, guilt was still gnawing at him.

"I have other duties to attend to," he said somewhat awkwardly, "I'll check in later shall I?"

"Mmm," Rodimus' optics were focused on his main console and the load screen for Virtual Fullstasis.

Rodimus' short attention span usually annoyed Magnus. But in this instance it was reassuring. Maybe after a few rounds of full stasis, he would forget all about the new shuttle.

At least he hoped.

"Hey Magnus?"

Magnus glanced back around.

"Ultra Fighter?" Rodimus said.

Magnus tried not to blanch too much as he shook his helm.

"No?" Rodimus sighed, "Yeah. It's stupid."

He turned back to his game.

**

A few joors later Magnus got an urgent ping from Rodimus to return to his office. He found Megatron already present - a fact that didn't come as that much as a surprise considering he had asked for his intervention. What was more surprising was the distinct lack of yelling, the fact that Rodimus was actually smiling.

"Change of plans Mags," he said gleefully, "I was talking to Megs and we came to the conclusion that we don't really need another shuttle."

"Not one with Rodimus' unique vision anyway," Megatron drawled.

Rodimus' grin momentarily faltered as he shot Megatron a glare. Magnus couldn't help feeling relieved. The sign of hostility was much more familiar than walking into a room to see the two mysteriously getting along. _  
_

"As I was saying," Rodimus said, smile reemerging, "What we do need is a surveillance drone. One that can perform safety assessments etc."

"I think that's a good idea," Magnus agreed wholeheartedly.

He sent Megatron a grateful look.

"I've already done up a concept sketch," Rodimus held out a datapad, "Take a look."

Magnus' elation was swiftly crushed as he caught sight of a familiar facial insignia.

"We're gonna call it the MiniProbe," Rodimus enthused, "Mini as in MINImus, do you get it?"

Megatron huffed,

"I'm sure he gets it."

"It came to me like that," Rodimus snapped his fingers, "Just like Rodpod, an instant flash of genius."

Magnus said nothing. He was imagining the embarrassment of having a probe bearing his face flying down the hallways of the _Lost Light_.

He turned to Megatron,

"You approve?" he said weakly.

"Of course," Megatron purred, "It's... cute."

Magnus grimaced. It was just his luck - the co-Captains being constantly at odds over almost everything else except this one issue.

::I have to give you credit,:: Megatron said unexpectedly over his comm, ::Trying to use me to shut down Rodimus' little project. Only it didn't work out quite like you planned did it?::

::I was genuinely asking for your aid,:: Magnus said with chagrin, ::I apologize for not being… completely forthright about the particulars.::

::I suppose I can see why,:: Megatron mused, ::It was a typical Rodimus design. I mean, laser canon antennas? He also wanted the moustache on the MiniProbe to spin when it detected danger. You’re fortunate I talked him out of it.::

Magnus was grateful – the very _notion_ of a comically spinning facial insignia - though he would have been even more so if the project was scrapped entirely.

::I suppose there’s no chance of you withdrawing your support?:: he asked sadly.

:Hmm,:: Megatron tortured him with a prolonged pause, ::I think you’ve learnt your lesson. Cute as it would be to see the MiniProbe flying around, we don’t have the budgetary means to build it.::

His lips curved ever so slightly,

::Perhaps if Rodimus had invested less shanix on gongs and idiotic stars,:: he mused as Magnus dared to vent a sigh of relief, ::Would you like me to break the news?::

Magnus glanced at Rodimus, he was babbling about the MiniProbe obliviously in the background.

::Try to let him down gently.:: he said.

::Of course,:: Megatron turned to address Rodimus bluntly, “You do realize we can’t actually afford to build it.”

Rodimus gaped at him a moment,

“What? Why?”

“You spent too money on other things.”

Rodimus made a noise of dismissal,

“Oh please. It’s not like we’re broke,” he glanced at Magnus worriedly, “Are we?”

“We could always sell all your Rodimus-themed paraphernalia,” Megatron said before Magnus could answer, “Though I doubt it would fetch a high price.”

Rodimus scowled,

“One, rude. Second, I’m not selling my stuff.”

“Then you can forget the MiniProbe,” Megatron replied smoothly. 

“But you helped me draw up the plans,” Rodimus protested, “You said it was cute.”

“And it is,” Megatron answered, “But I won’t have something bankrupt our quest on the basis of… ‘cuteness’.”

Rodimus rose in his seat angrily,

“You slagger. You’ve been messing with me this whole time haven’t you? ‘Collaborating’ with me just so you could say no in the end.”

Megatron huffed, though Magnus had the feeling he was holding back a smirk,

“If you would rather blame me than address your own lack of financial savvy, so be it. But I have better things to do than listen.”

“This is the last time I involve you in my creative process!” Rodimus snapped at Megatron’s retreating back, “D’you hear me Megs?”

He slumped in his chair, pouting at the datapad.

“Sorry Mags,” he murmured, “I didn’t expect Megs to sabotage the project… Wow I sound naïve.”

Magnus once again felt a wave of guilt,

“It’s alright,” he patted his shoulder in his best approximation of comforting, “We can, uh, always review it in the future.”

“I ‘spose,” Rodimus mumbled.

“Is there anything I can do to cheer you up?” Magnus offered.

Rodimus glanced up, expression vulnerable,

“Can we frag?”

Magnus wasn't sure why the answer surprised him. Interface was Rodimus’ solution to most things. In this situation, he couldn’t say he held too many reservations himself. He wanted to take both their processors off the MiniProbe.

“Yes,” he said, provoking a wide grin from the Captain.


	39. Shattered Glass III

"Hurry up," Rodimus hissed impatiently as First Aid worked on replacing his hand, "Told youse I need dis fixed before the ceremony."

"And it will be," First Aid assured him sweetly, "Don't you worry."

"Youse the one should be worried," Rodimus huffed, "I'll put youse back on Delphi."

"I wouldn't want that," First Aid said, "After you so graciously appointed me CMO."

Minimus glanced up from the speech he was writing. If First Aid had a mouth beneath his mouthplate he was probably smiling.

He didn't doubt First Aid had lusted after Ratchet's position as obsessively as Rodimus had chased the Primehood.

Minimus didn't trust his simpering sweet tone. He had a reputation for brutality spanning from his time with the Wreckers - which was how he and Rodimus had come into contact, during Magnus' failed coup. Rodimus had lost his hand and First Aid had been exiled to Delphi.

Which hadn't exactly been a punishment for the medic. There were rumors of him testing a spark resuscitation device on live subjects. In terms of immorality he was probably close to Ratchet.

But Rodimus seemed to like him, he was skilled, and his loyalty was reasonably assured by his promotion.

That didn't mean Minimus trusted him for a second.

"I wonder how Ratchet is faring," First Aid mused aloud, "Pharma was grateful to see the back of me - though he didn't dare say as much - I bet he'll be even more _displeased_ when he realizes my replacement."

The medic tittered as he said this.

"Something tells me Ratchet will fare just fine," Minimus said.

Ratchet had been positively cheerful on hearing his banishment to Delphi.

"Delphi?" he had cooed, "Might be a tad nippy. But oh, all those poor injured miners. Just begging to be _helped._ And darling Pharma, I can't wait to introduce him to Drift."

His reaction had left Rodimus sullen,

"I know he's more useful to us alive," he remarked to Minimus, "Just wish I'd been able to wipe da smirk off his face."

"Forget him," Minimus soothed, "You're Prime."

That had put the smile back on Rodimus' face. On both their faces.

How fortuituous that after all their planning, Optimus had been defeated on the battlefield by Megatron - Megatron of all people, noble leader of the Decepticons - allowing Rodimus the opportunity to shove the injured Prime out of an airlock on the return voyage to Iacon.

And declare himself leader.

After the ceremony in several joors, it would be overwhelming official.

Hence Rodimus' need to look his best - finally swapping his sawblade for a new hand.

"Will youse miss it?" he teased Minimus before First Aid arrived for the surgery.

"Not as much as I've missed you having two sets of fingers," Minimus answered, "Besides, we can always keep it as a souvenir."

Minimus watched the final stage of the surgery. There was no doubting First Aid's skill as Rodimus flexed his new hand with delight.

"Much better," he sighed, "What youse think?"

He waggled his fingers at Minimus,

"Very nice," he replied, "Very... _tactile_."

Rodimus responded with a wolfish grin.

"Youse'll have to excuse us Aid," he told the medic, "Me and Senator Minimus here have a scheduled meetin'."

"Of course," First Aid chirped, the picture of obedience, "I need to get back to the DMF anyway. Ratchet left it in an awful state. I left Springer rearranging but he's hardly an interior designer. Looking forward to the ceremony."

He bowed,

"Prime."

"He knows how to flatter," Minimus said once they were alone, "I'll give him that."

Rodimus slipped over to him,

"Better him than Ratchet," he said, "Least as far as proximity goes."

He trailed his new fingers up Minimus' thigh,

"Wanna test out this bad boy?"

"Later," Minimus said (not without disappointment, he hated turning down interface, but he needed to stick to his priorities), "I have to finish this speech."

Rodimus pressed his mouth wickedly against his audio,

"I could always go out dere and ad-lib."

Minimus imagined Rodimus taking to the podium, making an obscene gesture with his hands,

"Ahm da new Prime, suck on it!"

"Probably best to stick to my speech," he told him.

"Heh, youse probably right," Rodimus smacked a kiss on his helm before shifting over towards a full-length mirror.

"Cape or no cape?" he asked as he inspected himself.

"It is traditional," Minimus answered, "Though in this instance breaking with tradition is probably a good thing. We don't want anything associating you with previous Primes."

Rodimus gave a hum of agreement,

"I'd still like somethin' flashy though," he said, "What 'bout a crown?"

"Might send the wrong message," Minimus said, "You want to appear a strong representative, not a..."

"Nutty tyrant," Rodimus said, "Optamus 2.0?"

"Exactly."

"Won't be too hard," Rodimus smirked at his reflection, "Keep the rantin' and ravin' to a minimum. Don't threaten to throw anyone in the smeltin' pool... Least not publicly."

Minimus smiled as he returned to his speech.

"Nervous?" he asked later, as Rodimus waited for his cue to address the senate.

Rodimus glanced at him over his shoulder,

"Me? Naw," he said, "I was destined for dis."

But his smile was abnormally tight. Minimus found it endearing, that a person as confident as Rodimus could still experience a hint of stage fright at such a momentous moment.

He touched his hip,

"I'll be right behind you."

Rodimus' smile seemed to relax,

"I know."

He bent down,

"Mimi?"

Minimus took the opportunity to stroke his face,

"Yes love?"

Rodimus' optics seemed to avoid him almost bashfully,

"Not good at expressin' gratitude and all dat slag," he said, "But I want youse ta know..."

He suddenly met Minimus' gaze, mouth forming a familiar smirk,

"Gonna show youse tonight by makin' youse scream."

Laughter bubbled from Minimus' vocalizer,

"Well I’ve always preferred physical expressions of gratitude."

Rodimus' denta scraped over his audio,

"Seriously, youse are gonna overload more'n youse ever done in youse life."

"Down boy," Minimus murmured, "You don't want to walk onto the podium with a pressurized spike."

"Guess youse right," Rodimus chuckled, "Don't wanna be the first Prime to give his inaugural speech wid a boner."

"Probably not the most comfortable way to make history."

"But later..."

"Yes later."

They shared a kiss, only to be interrupted by the squeaking voice of a disposable,

"S-sir, Rodimus Prime, Sir. They're ready for you."

Rodimus straightened,

"Time ta knock 'em dead."

He gave a lingering glance over his shoulder at Minimus before he moved into the spotlight.

Minimus watched him raise his arms and greet the crowd in typical Rodimus fashion,

"Ey how youse doin'?"

Minimus smiled. Given it was Rodimus, a touch of irreverence was fitting, prior to him launching into Minimus' carefully prepared speech.

"You must be very proud of your protege Minimus."

Minimus turned to see Shockwave. He returned the mech's genial smile.

"Shockwave," he said, "I see you've dressed for the occasion."

"Showing my support," he purred, "Besides, purple is very in this season."

"It suits you," Minimus said, "As does your support."

He didn't trust Shockwave and his gleaming frame in the slightest. But polite pretenses were everything. Shockwave knew this as well as he did - there was a reason he had survived this long.

"Have your Outliers recovered Optimus' body?" Minimus moved to business.

"No such luck," Shockwave answered, "I assure you the moment they do, you will be informed."

He tapped an elegant finger to his chin,

"I do wonder what you could possibly want with his corpse."

"Proof that he's dead," Minimus said simply.

"And if it turns out he's not quite so... dead?"

Minimus' expression hardened,

"Then I expect the situation to be rectified."

Shockwave nodded,

"You know your brother used to complain that you had no ambition," he mused with a smile, "How wrong he was. Look at you now."

 _Yes_ , Minimus thought as Shockwave swept away, _look at me now._

He turned his attention back to Rodimus' speech.

They had made it this far, a cause for celebration. Though he knew the struggle was far from over.

Rodimus becoming Prime was one thing, making sure he remained one was another.


	40. Prime (SG)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some happy SG Mimi and Rahdamus smut ;)

::Say it,:: Rodimus purrs over their comm.

His mouth is currently occupied - Minimus straddling his face, Rodimus' tongue lapping against valve.

"Say what?" he hums with a smile.

::Youse know what.::

Of course he does. But he's not about to comply so easily. 

"I believe I don't," he teases.

Rodimus' tongue stops it's series of devious circles

::Youse do,:: he says with a touch of petulance, ::Lil word, starts wid P.::

"Perceptor?" Minimus grins.

Rodimus' groan causes a pleasing sensation.

"Polyhex?"

Another huff, vibrating against his core.

::Quit teasin',:: Rodimus growls, "Else I won't makes youse 'load.::

"Considering I can simply grind myself to overload over your face, that's hardly a threat," Minimus replies amiably.

Rodimus wriggles impotently in response. There's not much he can do to buck Minimus off - not with the restraints and the inhibitor on his spike, reminding him that if he disobeys too much, he'll go unsatisfied.

Minimus can feel his lips forming that adorable pout of his,

::C'mon Mimi.:: he pleads, ::I like hearin' youse say it.::

Minimus fingers the points of his helm leisurely,

"Persuade me then," he tells him.

That's enough to coax Rodimus back into his task. Minimus relishes the desperation in each flick of his tongue.

He wonders if Rodimus appreciates the irony - a mech slavishly, feverishly applying oral to another in order to be addressed by certain title.

But then, Rodimus has never cared about the lengths he has to go to get what he wants.

It's one of the things they share in common.

"Prime," Minimus rewards him as he feels his climax approaching, " _Prime._ "

Rodimus moans into him happily. Moans around Minimus' overload, tongue lodged deep, as if he wants to feel each clench of his tiny calipers.

Afterwards he withdraws, nuzzling Minimus' opening lazily while the smaller mech waits for the strength to return to his legs so he can shift off him.

It's a nice sight that awaits him when he does. Rodimus beaming and damp, lips and facial insignia shining.

"Happy?" Minimus smiles.

Rodimus licks his lips,

"Could do wid an overload," he answers impishly "Youse wanna take dat inhibitor off?"

Minimus glances at Rodimus' pressurized spike, tip glistening with pre-fluid and glowing inhibitor ring at the base.

It's a thing of beauty really, Minimus notes as it twitches.

One he is in a position to admire for as long he wants.

"Not yet," he looks back at Rodimus, "I'm not done playing with you... Prime." 


	41. Punchline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Megs' joke comes from a list of grammar jokes I found on the internet. I wish I was smart enough to have come up with it :(

It started with the 'watch without laughing' compilation Blaster had sourced over the intergalactic datanet. Everyone who had watched it at Swerve's had at least cracked a smile. Rodimus included.

"That wheezing Tenerian thing, how could you not laugh at that?"

Then the idea occurred to him. Magnus who never cracked a smile - only under the duress of nanocons - or Primus forbid, laughed. Perhaps this vid held the key to unlocking his sense of humor.

So Rodimus had shown him the vid at the next Captains meeting, only for Magnus to remain stony-faced throughout.

He didn't smile at the wheezing Tenerian or the squillian being kicked in his squillsac or the turbofox trying to catch its tail.

At the end of the vid he frowned at Rodimus,

"I fail to see how this had anything to do with the quarter-cycle report."

"What is wrong with you?" Rodimus cried, "How could you not find any of that funny?"

Magnus' frown grew even more prominent,

"The footage was poorly edited with no linear sense of subject matter," he said, "Why should I find it humorous?"

"Because it's random and silly. The Tenerian wheezing - that's hilarious."

"From my understanding Tenerians wheeze to express grief," Magnus said.

"Oh," Rodimus grimaced, "Okay, that one might be in poor taste. But the Galactic Council Hat Rap..?”

“Ridiculous.”

“The Self-Hating Decepticon?”

“Idiocy,” Megatron broke in under his breath, causing Rodimus to grin.

Still his mirth was short-lived. Magnus’ solemn expression seemed to agree with Megatron’s assessment.

“The squillian..." Rodimus continued.

"I don't see the humor in physical assault. That squillian will probably never father offspring."

Rodimus chuckled,

“Considering how repulsive they are, isn’t that a plus?”

His comment was met with a look of reproach.

"The NAIL shooting engex out of his olfactory?" he persisted.

"Messy."

"The turbofox then," Rodimus said desperately, "Even Megs cracked a smile at that."

He gestured at Megatron who merely shrugged.

"I don't see what's so amusing about a creature attacking itself," Magnus drew his attention back, "It made me uncomfortable."

Rodimus sighed,

"Of course it did. I don't even know why I bothered. You have no sense of humor."

To his surprise Magnus actually looked hurt,

"Perhaps not," he murmured, "I think it's best we continue with the meeting."

Rodimus nodded, though he barely paid attention and felt horrible throughout - especially when Magnus made a rushed exit after the meeting was concluded.

"Your level of tact is astounding sometimes," Megatron said, to which Rodimus responded with a halfhearted glare.

"I didn't mean it as a bad thing - okay, maybe I did, it's hard to fathom a guy not having a funny gear."

"Who's to say he doesn't," Megatron said, "I would say your approach was wrong - as usual."

"Oh yeah?" Rodimus scowled, "And when's the last time you made someone laugh, Mr. Warlord?"

"That's irrelevant," Megatron said, "The key to defeating an enemy is understanding their weakness. From what I can tell, humor works on the same principal. You have to cater the joke to a subject Magnus understands."

That's where you're wrong Megs," Rodimus argued, "I've joked about the law dozens of times, Magnus has only gotten offended."

"That's because you're making _fun_ of the law. Something Magnus cares about. It's the same as me mocking your Rodimus stars."

Rodimus admitted he had a point. He hated when Megatron insulted his Rodimus stars.

"Okay smart mech, how do I make a joke about the law, that's not actually making fun of it, so Magnus won't take offence and maybe, though probably not, smile."

"You probably can't," Megatron said, "Witticisms usually require knowledge of the subject. Your knowledge of the law is minimal at best."

Rodimus would have argued if not for the truth of the statement. Legislation bored him. He usually relied on Magnus for the particulars.

"Thanks for the unhelpful advice then," he sighed, "I think I'm just gonna go offer Mags an apology frag."

Megatron shook his helm,

"The fact you think every situation can be solved with interface..."

"What else am I supposed to do?" Rodimus growled, "I can't appease him with a law-themed joke since I'm apparently too _stupid_ to come up with one."

"You do realize Magnus has interests outside of the law," Megatron pointed out.

"Of course I know that," Rodimus said defensively - after all he knew Magnus better than Megatron - "He likes music and... you know, the rules on how to write stuff."

"Grammar?" Megatron supplied.

"Yes, grammar, smart aft."

Rodimus watched Megatron reach for a datapad.

"What are you doing?"

"Writing a joke down for you," the co-Captain answered as he typed, "I doubt you'll be able to remember it off the top of your own helm."

"What, too complicated for me," Rodimus sneered, "It's probably not even funny."

"Not to you," Megatron replied, "But I think it will be different for Magnus."

He showed Rodimus the joke. It was nerdy, the type of nerdy that went over Rodimus' helm - not that he admitted as much.

"You really think Mags will find this funny?" he said, tone deliberately skeptical.

"How about a wager?" Megatron suggested.

"What kind of wager?"

Rodimus didn't like the look of Megatron's answering smirk. He didn't like the terms of the wager either - at least when he first heard them. But in the end, the daredevil in him had agreed. After all, the chances of Magnus actually reacting with humor were slim to none.

He found Magnus in his office. He didn't look exactly pleased to see him,

"What is it Rodimus?" he asked wearily.

"Look I'm sorry about earlier," Rodimus told him, "I didn't mean to insult you."

Magnus glanced down at the datapad on his desk rather self-consciously,

"It's fine," he murmured, "I know humor isn't exactly a... a specialty of mine."

"Well, mainstream humor, no," Rodimus said, "But you've always been your own bot Mags."

That earned him a helm tilt, Magnus' gaze meeting his own. Rodimus shot him a smile before looking down at Megatron's joke.

"There is a verb and a noun in a bar. The verb approaches the noun. "Hello. Would you care to come back to my place and conjugate?" The noun said "Oh, no. I decline."

He glanced up to scan Magnus' face. He looked mostly stunned - but there, at the corner of his mouth, a slight but unmistakable, crease.

"Primus," Rodimus stared at him in something like awe, "You actually found that funny."

The quirk vanished swiftly, embarrassment overwhelming Magnus' features.

"Well I... It is clever," he glanced off to one side as if to compose himself, "Did you come up with it?"

Rodimus could have lied, could have easily taken the credit. But the simple fact was he wasn't the joke's creator - a fact that caused his elation to curdle.

"No," the words came out bitterly, "It was Megatron. I don't even fragging understand it."

"Oh," to Rodimus' dismay, Magnus' tone switched to consoling, "I can explain it to you. You see..."

"Not the point Mags," Rodimus cut over him, "There's a joke in existence that made you sorta smile and I didn't come up with it."

He slumped dejectedly in Magnus' spare chair.

"You may not have come up with it," Magnus said, "But you are the one who told it to me."

Rodimus sighed,

"Your point being?”

"My point is... that I'm grateful."

"Huh?"

"You detest working with Megatron," Magnus explained, "But on this occasion you accepted his assistance, just to make me appreciate a joke. That... means a lot to me."

Rodimus felt a smile tug at his lips,

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

Rodimus shifted out of his chair to press against Magnus' side,

"Well, I'm glad I could make you sorta smile."

He poked the corner of Magnus' mouth with his finger - provoking a more familiar huff of annoyance. Rodimus grinned as Magnus curled his hand around the offending finger and lowered it,

"Would you like me to explain the joke?" he asked.

"Maybe later," Rodimus said, "I'd rather do something that doesn't involve talking."

Another huff, Magnus understood Rodimus innuendo better than he understood popular jokes. But this time he didn't protest Rodimus coming to nuzzle against his neck cabling, a task he went about contentedly until something crossed his mind.

Slag, the wager.

"Just one tiny thing," he said to Magnus, "If Megs asks, tell him his joke sucked."

"Why?"

"Because if you don't, I'll be forced to eject my gong out of the airlock. Trust me Mags, no one wants to see that punchline."


	42. Pampering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Minimus has really cool hands. And that's all I have to say about that!

Minimus wasn’t sure why he thought completing the rest of his datawork in the berth would be achievable goal. Not with Rodimus reclining next to him. Rodimus barely let him get his work done in his actual office. At least in his office Rodimus had to circumnavigate his desk to paw at him like he was doing so easily now, cooing in his audial, all of which translated as ‘pay attention to me, are you paying attention to me? Stop your extremely important work and pay attention to me’.

The cooing didn't bother him as much as the prodding. It was easier to suffer his pokes in the Magnus Armor. Minimus’ true form was much more sensitive. It certainly didn’t help that Rodimus seemed to lack the common sense to use gentler force when Minimus switched out of the Armor. The fact Minimus’ EMF was quivering with annoyance only seemed to egg him on further.

“Magggs,” poke, “Maaaagsss.”

Minimus decided silent condemnation wasn’t working and finally moved to bat the offending hand away,

“Would you stop that?”

Rodimus dodged the swipe of his hand with a chuckle.

Minimus knew he shouldn’t rise to him any further. But there was a lecture already forming in his processor, one about the importance of Rodimus letting him work – had Rodimus forgotten the reason he had datawork to catch up on was due to all his unscheduled visits to his office this cycle, none of which had anything to do with either of their official duties – Minimus opened his mouth to vocalize the train of thought before he got too carried away.

But Rodimus cut him off – not with words but by action, his hand curling around the wrist of Minimus’ still raised hand.

“Woah Magnus,” he leaned in closer, “You… have really cool hands.”

The unexpected compliment caused Minimus to splutter,

“I do?”

“Yeah,” Rodimus’ close eyeballing of his hand was almost comical, “They’re green and detailed and tiny.”

Minimus flinched at the last word. He had always disliked that word in relation to himself. Yes he knew he was small. But 'tiny', that word had always seemed like a taunt.

Not that Rodimus seemed to be taunting him. In fact he was smiling – the admiring kind of smile he gave his reflection after a full-frame polish.

The distinction lessened his ire at Rodimus’ particular choice of word.

Still, Rodimus staring so closely at his hand, felt awkward.

“Yes, well, I’ve… I’ve always found them sufficient,” he tried to pull his hand away, unsuccessfully.

“So tiny.” Rodimus crooned, sending Minimus into great heights of discomfort.

He couldn’t quite mask his frown.

“Let go Rodimus,” he tugged for emphasis, “Please.”

Rodimus held firm,

“In a minute,” he said, “I’m still… studying.”

Once again his choice of words weren’t exactly reassuring. Minimus’ frown deepened.

‘Study’ held the same negative connotation as ‘tiny’, as though he was some kind of oddity. He knew Rodimus hadn’t meant to imply this. But after a lifetime of being seen as lesser and peculiar, old habits were hard to break.

“I… I have work to do,” he said, only to be ignored.

Or rather, not heard. Rodimus’ concentration was on his hand.

“Look at these little grooves and joints. Funny, I never really noticed…”

His smile split into a grin,

“How cute they are.”

Minimus grimaced. 'Cute' was as bad as 'tiny'.

“Rodimus,” a stern edge entered his voice, “I really must insist that you…”

Rodimus once again cut him off through action. He trailed his fingers over Minimus’ palm. Minimus jolted, mostly at the unexpectedness of the sensation, not the sensation itself, which was actually quite pleasant.

The revelation muted him entirely, as Rodimus’ fingers moved to skirt along Minimus’ own, fingering the grooves experimentally. Minimus was taken aback by how soothing it felt. In fact it grew to unnerve him, the pleasure that came from Rodimus stroking his hand. It felt almost shameful. Unseemly.

“Stop,” he mumbled.

This time Rodimus complied.

“Why?” he met his gaze, “I am hurting you?”

“No,” Minimus admitted, “But…”

The sides of Rodimus’ mouth quirked,

“Oh I see. You like it, maybe a little too much. Am I right?”

His teasing tone made it easier for Minimus to summon a glower,

“I said no such thing.” he huffed.

“Didn’t have to,” Rodimus startled him by sighing, “Sheesh Mags, you don’t have to feel guilty about stuff that feels good. What’s so bad about being pampered?”

“Pampered?” Minimus echoed.

“Yeah,” to his dismay Rodimus resumed his ministrations, “Pampered. Someone else lavishing attention on you. Like I’m doing now.”

His fingers completed a soothing circle on his palm,

“It’s unnecessary,” Minimus squirmed.

Rodimus gave a slight huff of annoyance,

“You’re wrong Mags,” he said, “You deserve it. So stop fussing and let me do this for you okay.”

A faint hint of pleading accompanied the last words. The sincerity of it shattered Minimus’ resolve.

“Very well,” he surrendered.

He attempted to dismiss the vestiges of his discomfort as Rodimus applied a pleasing pressure to his joints. At least he seemed more aware in restraining his strength, unlike earlier. Minimus supposed that was a positive.

It helped to put him at greater ease.

Rodimus’ fingers ended up doing the rest. Once Minimus was able to let go of most of his misgivings, he found Rodimus’ touch wasn’t merely pleasurable. It lulled his frame into a strangely peaceful state. By the time Rodimus had switched to massaging his other hand, he was on the cusp of recharge.

It was a fact not lost on Rodimus.

“Guess I really do have the magic touch huh?”

Minimus had since off-lined his optics but he could hear the grin in Rodimus’ voice.

“Mmm,” was all he managed to muster, a little ineloquent for his liking.

But he was too tired to attempt a correction. He barely had the energy to move, not even to object when Rodimus cruelly halted his massage.

“Nhhh.” he protested, an even more woeful attempt at articulation.

“Heh, you want more? I’ve created a monster.”

A small growl issued from Minimus’ vocaliser. A growl of all things. In the midst of his heavy daze, Minimus felt the sting of embarrassment.

Especially when he heard Rodimus chuckle.

“So cute.”

“Mnotcute,” Minimus forced out with slightly improved elocution.

Rodimus chuckled again,

“Fine, you’re so… Minimus.”

Minimus wasn’t sure what to make of that correction. But Rodimus’ tone came across as fond and when he resumed massaging his hand, Minimus found he was beyond caring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legasp I totally wrote something where Roddy doesn't act sexual XD


	43. Visit (TFA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a plot bunny that in TFA, Minimus was Ultra Magnus' secretary, similar to how Cliffjumper served as Longarm's.
> 
> Set after 'Spark Support'. Warning sad feels.

"You have a visitor," First Aid spoke up behind Rodimus.

Rodimus didn't look back. He continued to stroke Magnus' thumb, something he had been doing for the past half joor, hoping to stimulate a reaction.

"A visitor?" he repeated dully.

He wasn't in any mood for visitors. Not even his team, who kept urging him to take a break from his vigil, get some proper recharge. Rodimus knew they meant well. But the more they kept insisting, the harder it was Rodimus not to lose his temper. He had asked them not to drop by again for a while.

So far they had heeded the request, though Red Alert had sent him several messages. Rodimus still hadn't checked the contents. He assumed perhaps the medic had taken it upon herself to come alone.

“He said his designation is Minimus,” First Aid said, “A minibot, says he’s Ultra Magnus’ secretary.”

Rodimus digested the information mutely. Minimus? The minibot was indeed Ultra’s secretary, though nowadays he was technically Sentinel’s.   

"Do you want me to tell him to come back later?" First Aid said in the wake of his silence.

"No, its fine,” Rodimus found himself saying, “Send him in."

He was curious about Minimus’ motive in coming, especially at this late juncture. Most of the well-wishers had petered out over the last few cycles, something Rodimus had been grateful for. They had been harder to deal with than his team mates. All of them acted as though Magnus was on his deathbed.

Members of council were the worst, Rodimus biting his tongue as they offered condolences. It didn’t matter to them if he lived or offlined, they had already chosen a replacement.

First Aid returned with the minibot in tow. Then he excused himself, leaving the pair alone. Minimus had stopped halfway across the room, looking horribly uncertain.

"You can come closer,” Rodimus told him.

Minimus hesitated before complying. He came to a stop at Rodimus’ side, gazing at Magnus. There was a familiar look in his optics, of shock laced with sadness. Rodimus had seen it in the optics of his team, when they had first visited. He struggled with it, knowing he had to remain strong, provide reassurance when all he wanted to do was bury his face in Magnus’ arm and be left alone.

“You can talk to him,” he forced out, “That’s what I do. Rung says it might help trigger a response.”

Minimus made a small noise of acknowledgement. He seemed reluctant.

“You don’t have to,” Rodimus added, “If you don’t feel comfortable.”

Minimus glanced at him almost shamefully,

“No, I, um,” he turned back to Magnus, “Hello Sir.”  

It was awkward but sparkfelt. There was no response from Magnus. Rodimus could see the disappointment settling on Minimus’ face, mirroring his own. He grasped for a distraction,

“I wasn't expecting you to visit,” he said.

Minimus turned back to him, guiltily,

"I've been meaning to visit sooner, I, what with Sentinel taking over..."

"Yeah I bet he's keeping you busy,” Rodimus said scornfully, “Incompetent aft."

Minimus looked uncomfortable.

"It's, not for me to..." he began diplomatically.

"You can be honest Minimus,” Rodimus sighed, “Sentinel's not going to hear it from me."

Minimus still seemed reluctant,

"I do think Sentinel Prime lacks much of his predecessor’s expertise," he said finally.

"Predecessor?" Rodimus couldn’t help objecting to the term, the finality of it, "Magnus isn't down for the count. He's going to get better. Sentinel's 'promotion' is temporary."

"One hopes," Minimus murmured, tone lacking Rodimus’ certainty. It put Rodimus’ dentae on edge, "I do miss working for Ultra."

Rodimus softened at the last words. They were sincere, genuine. Rodimus knew how much Minimus idolized Magnus. He used to tease Magnus about it, always earning a rebuke.

“Minimus works hard,” Magnus used to say, “He’s a good bot. You shouldn’t mock him.”

But good bot or no, he had still transferred his loyalty over to Sentinel. Rodimus couldn’t stop a bitter retort from forming.

"Doesn't stop you from working for Sentinel."

Minimus’ optics widened,

"That's not fair Rodimus,” he protested, "I don't have much of a choice. There aren't many jobs out there for bots of my... my specifications. I'm only in my current position because Ultra took a chance on me."

Rodimus felt a stab of guilt. He supposed he couldn’t blame Minimus for trying to make do. Magnus wouldn’t have held it against him.  

"He was always good at seeing potential,” he said to Minimus by means of an apology.

The defensiveness fell from Minimus’ face.  

“Yes he was,” he murmured in agreement.

The admiration in his voice was painful. Rodimus knew Minimus wasn’t only agreeing in reference to himself. Magnus had seen the potential in so many bots. Including Rodimus, outside his love for him as his conjunx. Pit, he had even seen the potential in someone as loathsome as Sentinel to promote him to his staff.

“I wish he had kept that big-chinned glitch as a drill sergeant,” Rodimus vented aloud, “Then he wouldn’t be parading around Magnus’ office like he deserves to be there.”

"It was often hard to see what he saw in people,” Minimus said pensively.

"There's nothing to see in Sentinel but a power-hungry piece of slag,” Rodimus said derisively, “I bet there's not a single part of him that feels bad about Magnus lying down here."

"Perhaps not,” Minimus conceded with a frown, "I've never seen him display much sorrow over the matter.”

“What a surprise,” Rodimus bit out sarcastically.

Minimus sighed,

“Rodimus,” he said after a moment, “Sentinel is the reason I’m here.”

“He sent you here?” Rodimus’ optics narrowed with suspicion.

“No, of course not,” Minimus said, “In fact he has no idea that I’ve come. To tell you, well, to warn you really…”

“Warn me about what?” Rodimus said impatiently.

“Sentinel is saying you aren’t fulfilling your duty as Prime,” Minimus answered, “That you should be revoked of your rank.”

“What?” Rodimus said, “He can’t - he has no grounds to do that.”

Slag. Had that been the the subject of Red Alert's messages, begging him to report in?

Minimus’ expression was pitying,

“Actually he does,” he said, “You haven’t reported in for several cycles. Granted some of your absence can be attributed to your recovery from Cosmic Rust. But as for the rest…”

“I’ve been here, Minimus,” Rodimus interrupted, “Sentinel knows that. Everyone knows it.”

“I know,” Minimus said, “But Sentinel will argue it’s not a legitimate excuse for your absence.”

“How the Pit is it not legitimate,” Rodimus demanded.

“Because you are neither a medic nor a carer,” Minimus told him.

“I’m his conjunx!”

“You may be,” Minimus said, his voice so soft compared to Rodimus’ outburst, “But there’s nothing on record to officially confirm this.”

The words were a sharp blow to Rodimus’ spark and he winced. It had never bothered him before, he and Magnus carrying out their relationship in secret. In fact it had made things more exciting.

But now, with Magnus in critical condition and the implication Rodimus had no legitimate standing to be at his side, it hurt.

It hurt like the Pit but Rodimus fought against it.

“What does official recognition matter?” he said, “Everyone pretty much knows. You. Kup. Alpha Trion. My team. _Sentinel_.”

“He’ll deny it to get what he wants,” Minimus said soberly, “And he will use the lack of documented evidence to his advantage.”

Rodimus’ servos tightened into fists,

“Let him try,” he said, “Pit, let him kick me out. I don’t care.”

He turned back to Magnus, stroked his fingers resolutely.

“I would advise you to reconsider,” Minimus said, “Sentinel might not simply demote or discharge you. He may accuse you of treason.”

Rodimus’ shoulders hunched stubbornly,

“I’ll fight it. I served loyally under Magnus, the _real_ Magnus, for cycles. My record will speak for itself. I’m not a traitor.”

“And what if you lose?” Minimus said, “You’ll have your reputation, all the good you’ve done, dragged through the dirt. Not to mention you’ll face possible imprisonment. Isn’t it better to simply fall back in line, just for a little while.”

“By abandoning Magnus?” Rodimus growled.

“In First Aid’s care,” Minimus argued, “Be reasonable, Rodimus. Magnus would want you getting into this sort of trouble.”

Rodimus scowled,

“He’d want me to do the right thing.”

“At the cost of your career? Your freedom?” Minimus said, “Rodimus, Magnus was a morally righteous mech, but he knew how to pick and choose his battles.”

“Don’t school me on my own conjunx.”

“I’m not,” Minimus protested, “I’m trying to say that he cared about you. That he wouldn’t want…”

"Stop using past tense,” Rodimus raged, “Why does everyone do that? He's not dead!"

Discomfort was etched on every line of Minimus’ face,

"Rodimus, please,” he said, “I know this is hard for you, but…”

“You know?” Rodimus snapped, “How would you know? Have you ever had a conjunx Minimus?”

Minimus flinched,

“No,” he said almost inaudibly.

“Then how could you possibly know how this feels?”

Minimus’ fists suddenly clenched,

“Because I care about him too Rodimus,” he fairly shouted.

The outburst stripped Rodimus of words. He stared mutely at Minimus. The minibot actually appeared shocked at his own revelation. Nonetheless he carried on, in a softer but no less sincere tone,  

“I may not be his conjunx,” he said, “But I owe Magnus everything. Helping you is my way of trying to repay him. Please Rodimus, go back to work. Don’t give Sentinel a reason to punish you.”

Rodimus couldn’t help feeling swayed by the plea. He knew it was practical thing to do, something Magnus would preferred him to do.

But practical had never been Rodimus’ strong point. He was led his spark.

And he had promised Magnus, from the depths of his spark that he wouldn’t leave him.

“My mind’s made up Minimus,” he said, “If there are consequences, I’m prepared to face them.”

The answer earnt him a sigh from Minimus,

“I wish you would see sense.”

“Me and sense don’t go together,” Rodimus actually smiled, “Don’t feel bad though. You tried. I know you never approved of me.”

Minimus was one of the few bots who never fawned over him. He had always responded to Rodimus’ cheerful greetings and winks with a severity that seemed comical given his size.

And he had never been shy in his objections to Rodimus entering Magnus’ office without an appointment.

“Not in the past, no,” Minimus admitted, “I thought him entering this kind of relationship with you was a recipe for disaster. I never really understood why he would be willing to take the risk…”

Rodimus grimaced.

“Ouch.”

“Until now,” Minimus finished.

It took Rodimus a moment to process the implication of the words. Then he smiled.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Minimus didn’t smile, in fact his expression was melancholy, “You’re more loyal than I have the courage to be.”

“I don’t know about that,” Rodimus said, “You came here to warn me, despite how you felt in the past. That’s pretty loyal in my databank.”

Minimus glanced at the floor self-consciously.

“Perhaps,” he looked up, expression turning more apologetic, “I should go. Before Sentinel notices I’m missing.”

Rodimus nodded. The minibot looked towards Magnus. From way his lips pressed together, Rodimus believed he was debating whether to address him again.

“Getwellsoon,” he said, the words coming out rushed and garbled as though Minimus was trying to force them out before he lost his nerve, “Sir.”

He didn’t wait for a reaction this time. He ducked his helm and turned towards the door.

Rodimus called after him,

“Minimus wait.”

The minibot halted,

“Yes?”

“Maybe you could, visit again,” Rodimus said, “I think, Magnus would like that.”

He couldn’t quite bring himself to ask Minimus for his own sake. It sounded too selfish, and perhaps it was. But Rodimus was exhausted from floundering along alone.

Minimus seemed to be experiencing the same thing.

So perhaps it was better to flounder together.

And maybe between the two of them they could make Magnus wake up.

He was relieved when, after a prolonged look of uncertainty, Minimus nodded.

“I’ll come again,” he said, something in his voice telling Rodimus he would.


	44. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I am a broken record of low-self-esteem/brother-issues-Minimus feels :(
> 
> Also, because, despite his flaws, I like Roddy being Mags' personal pep squad. 
> 
> Set after Issue #44.

Rodimus barged into Magnus’ office with a grin,

"Wanna see my awesome selfie with the Necrobot?"

His grin dissipated at Magnus' forlorn expression.

"What's wrong?"

"Rewind told me about Dominus."

"You mean how he's technically whereabouts unknown?”

Magnus nodded. Rodimus subspaced his communicator,

"You wanna talk about it?" he came to lean against the edge of his desk.

Magnus’ expression was rigid with reluctance.

"I...” he began after a long moment, “I had resolved myself to the fact Dominus was dead. I grieved for him. But it was also comforting. Knowing he was at peace rather than suffering somewhere.”

"He might not be suffering where he is now,” Rodimus pointed out, “You don't know."

"Exactly,” a bitter edge entered Magnus’ voice, “I don't know.”

"I'm sure we'll find out," Rodimus soothed, "If Rewind has any say in it."

Magnus’ fingers traced the polished surface of his desk restlessly,

"He seemed so happy. It made me feel... Guilty I suppose. That I didn't share his elation.”

“You shouldn't feel guilty for that,” Rodimus told him, “You're being… pragmatic.”

"Perhaps that’s too kind a word,” Magnus said softly.

He sighed at Rodimus’ quizzical expression.

"I lived under Dominus' shadow for so long. Maybe a part of me worries that if we ever find him, things will go back to the way they were.”

"That won't happen," Rodimus assured him, "Not on the _Lost Light_. Everyone knows you."

"I know. And perhaps I'm being irrational,” Magnus’ fists clenched helplessly, “But that doesn't make me any less selfish. That I would prefer my brother being dead because it's convenient for me...”

"You don't really think that,” Rodimus said.

Magnus was struck by the certainty in his tone,

“Don't I?”

"No,” Rodimus touched his arm with a slight smile, “You're just a little raw at the moment. You just found out your brother's possibly alive somewhere. You're worried he's stuck in a bad situation. Does that sound selfish to you?”

“I suppose not...”

“And if we did find him would you welcome him aboard?

“Of course I would.”

Dominus was his brother. He would never deny him passage aboard the _Lost Light_ because of his own issues. He wasn’t that callous.

Rodimus’ smile widened,

“See you're not selfish Magnus. But you're not invulnerable either. That's not bad though. It's normal.”

“Normal?” Magnus echoed.

“Yeah,” Rodimus confirmed, “Nobody likes being shoved into the background. I mean you've seen how I react to Thunderclash hogging the spotlight for five minutes. Five minutes. And that's only because I hate not being the most popular guy in the room - don't tell anyone I admitted this by the way - I don't think I would have coped having the same thing done to me for as long as you did. It's admirable.”

“I don’t know about that,” Magnus said modestly.

“I mean it,” Rodimus insisted, “What’s more admirable is that you went out and did your own thing. Everyone knows that. And if and when we ever find Dominus, you can tell him all the cool stuff you've done. And if he's anything like the guy Rewind makes him out to be he's gonna be proud of you.”

Magnus knew this was true. Dominus had always expressed approval at Minimus’ accomplishments - when he’d had the time to notice them. Minimus had resented it at the time, though he never doubted his brother’s sincerity. It was hard to swallow compliments from someone turned around and outshone him.

But this time it might feel different. He hoped it would feel different.  

“And you know, you can also tell him you're tapping this,” Rodimus jerked a thumb at himself proudly, “No offence to Rewind but I am way hotter than he is.”

Magnus doubted Dominus would be envious on that account. But the idea of introducing him to Rodimus, despite Rodimus’ lack of social etiquette, someone he cared about, someone who cared about him - that was nice thought.

Dominus had always encouraged him to find a partner.

“Everything's gonna be fine,” Rodimus’ voice broke him from his thoughts.

Magnus wanted to believe that – especially after all Rodimus’ assurances. But he couldn’t help that persistent niggling doubt,

“What if we don't find him?” he said aloud, “What if we never find out...”

“You gotta think positive,” Rodimus said, “The things we've seen, nothing's impossible.”

“I suppose not,” Magnus conceded.

Even if he didn’t take into account their various (mis)adventures, one only had to look at the fact that he and Rodimus were in a relationship. Some time ago he would have regarded the idea as an impossibility.

Rodimus smiled,

“You wanna see my selfie now?”

Magnus nodded, appreciating the distraction. He held out his hand for the communicator.


	45. Bodyguard (SG)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more SG stuff :3
> 
> Thank you to Insec, for our chats on the SG verse and what Swerve would probably be like. It inspired this <3

"My sources tell me you're an exceptional marksmech," Minimus smiled at the blue and green minibot.

The bot seemed uncomfortable with the praise.

"I'm no better than most," he said.

"And modest as well," Minimus said, "Such a rarity. Your record states that you were a metallurgist?"

"Yes Senator."

"You were stationed at Kimia?"

Minimus didn't miss the look of pain that flashed across the mech's visor.

"One of the tragedies of the war," he said in a sympathetic tone, "I expect you had many friends among the casualties."

"Colleagues," the mech said quietly, "Yes."

"My condolences," Minimus said.

"Thank you," came the somewhat stiff reply.

"After Kimia you were assigned to the Wreckers?" Minimus continued.

"Yes Senator."

"Even though you lacked military experience?"

The mech's mouth gave a bitter twist. Minimus preferred mecha with lip components. Not only because it lent them an edge in the berth. It made them so much easier to read.

"Optimus ordered all the Kimian survivors to be assimilated into the Wreckers, regardless of experience."

"And it's during this time you gained your prowess as a marksmech?" Minimus said.

"Ultra Magnus considered all bots who couldn't defend themselves as disposable," the minibot said by way of answer, "He purposely threw us on the front line. It forced us to learn the ropes rather quickly."

"I can't say I condone Magnus' tactics," Minimus said, "But self-preservation is a powerful motivator."

"It wasn't just my life I wanted to protect," the mech surprised him, "I wanted to protect others too."

"An admirable motive," Minimus gave him a smile, "No wonder they call you the Heroic Sniper."

The minibot's expression was pained,

"With all due respect Senator, I dislike that title. I'm a regular bot."

"With a talent for sharpshooting."

Minimus raised his hand for silence before the mech could protest.

"Which brings me to the reason I've summoned you here," he went on, "I'm in need of a bodyguard."

The minibot was silent a moment.

"And you think I’d be a good candidate?" he said.

"Your reputation speaks for itself," Minimus said, adding with a chuckle, "And if I'm being completely honest, I like the idea of being protected by a mech of similar stature. It... appeals to my sense of aesthetics."

The mech only offered a brief nod in response.

"You're not very talkative are you?" Minimus said.

The minibot tapped his fingers together,

"I don't see the point in speaking unless I have something meaningful to say."

Minimus smiled.

"Good answer."

He hardly wanted a chatterbox as his personal guard.

*

Swerve knew better than to trust the jovial charm of Senator Ambus. But his new assignment afforded him a rare chance at solitude. A chance to avoid being crowded by adoring bots, as though he was some sort of spectacle. Swerve wasn't immune to the irony. Back in Kimia he would have given everything to fit in. His old self would have lapped up all their praise blissfully. But present Swerve knew better. It wasn't real. These mecha were only attracted to his fame.

Such fame felt hollow to Swerve. All his skill as a marksmech could never make up for his uselessness at Kimia. That failure kept him grounded. Kept him from losing himself in the fantasy of Heroic Sniper. What kind of hero failed to protect his colleagues, the colleagues he'd so desperately wanted to call friends? What kind of hero became the bodyguard of a politician with questionable morals?

The simple answer was no hero. But then, Swerve wasn't aiming to be a hero. He had served out his best on the battlefield. Now he just wanted some peace and quiet.

Swerve caught sight of the recently appointed Prime approaching the large doors of Minimus' office. He shouldered his gun and gave the appropriate bow.

"Well if it ain't the illustrious sharpshooter," Rodimus leered down at him, "Youse the new bodyguard I take it?"

"Yes Prime."

Rodimus stroked his facial insignia,

"Guess it makes sense," he said, "Mimi's gotta knack for pickin' the right bots."

"I'll do my best to serve," Swerve answered dutifully.

Rodimus' optics hardened,

"Youse better," he dropped his voice to a menacing murmur, "'Cause he gets even one scratch on his cute lil frame, there'll be the Pit to pay. Youse get me, 'hero'?"

"Yes Prime," Swerve intoned.

Rodimus flashed him a feral smile in response,

"Den lemme through, bodyguard. Me and Mimi got important business."

Swerve moved aside obediently. Rodimus threw him a perverse glance over his shoulder,

"Oh, by the way, if youse hear screamin', don't rush in. We get a lil loud if youse get what I mean."

"The Senator said he would only call for my assistance via commlink."

Rodimus chuckled,

"Heh he always thinks o' everythin'," he tossed up a careless hand as he moved inside, "Welp, enjoy youse evenin' Swerve. Youse know I will."


	46. Magnus (SG)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More SG, with Mimi, Rahdamus, original Mags, Rung (warning Rung feels) and Swerve. 
> 
> I figured SG Magnus (the original, not Mimi) would have still been a cop who's faith in the system was warped as a result of all the corruption, finally cracked and took on the whole 'can't beat 'em, join 'em' by siding with OP in his initial power grab. His mental state's been on a sharp decline ever since ):
> 
> Warning: Slight robogore, reference to Empurata and Shadowplay.

Minimus’ gaze travelled from the tip of the immense sword hovering in front of his optic, to the horrifying visage of it’s owner.

"Magnus," he said genially, "It's been a while."

"Oh it has," Magnus rumbled, lack of lips making his teeth even more prominent as they bared in a feral satire of a grin, "Too long."

Minimus glanced at busted remains of his office door.

“That was a rather expensive door.”

“Perhaps you should be reassessing your priorities,” Magnus’ optics blazed in his skeletal helm, “I may have broken your door. But you’re the one who foolishly dismissed his guard for the cycle.”

Minimus sighed,

“My generosity was perhaps misguided in hindsight,” he gestured politely at Magnus, “I bow to your superior thinking.”

Magnus grinned again. Minimus fought the urge to show his revulsion.

"Think flattering me is going to spare your life?"

“So you’re here to kill me,” Minimus enquired levelly.

Magnus sneered,

"Why else would I be pointing a sword at your helm?"

"You haven't delivered the killing blow,” Minimus pointed out.

"No act of mercy I assure you. The act of simply removing your helm seems so quick, hardly an interesting way to dispose of you. I could think of far more painful ways.”

“I’m sure you could,” Minimus conceded, “Though while you decide, do you mind telling me why you intend to assassinate me. We have been allies for many years.”

“Allies?” Magnus spat, “What use do I need for allies? Alliances, intrigues, it’s all so tedious. I would rather do away with the lot of you.”

“Planetary mass murder,” Minimus mused, “Sounds like a lofty ambition, though quite an immense task on your own.”

“At least I won’t be bored.”

“Why not join Rodimus and I,” the smaller mech offered, “I’m sure we can keep you… stimulated.”

Magnus leered over the surface of Minimus’ desk,

“You think I'll bow down for a whore and his little handler?” his voice dripped with spite.

Minimus responded with an affable shrug,

“You could serve worse masters.”

“I'll serve no _master_ but chaos."

Magnus straightened, seeming to muster some of the cold authority his younger self had been renowned for, before he had started to lose his mind. Such a shame about Optimus tearing off his face. His sculpted features had been work of art.

“And there’s no greater chaos,” he said, “Than war.”

“If you wanted war,” Minimus continued in his hospitable tone, “You only had to ask.”

“Why ask,” Magnus growled, “When I can simply _take_. Starting with you, Minimus Ambus.”

“Which brings us to the issue of why.”

“Why?” Magnus sniggered, “Why? You think I don’t know you’re the brain behind Rodimus’ little operation. The voice in his audio. I bet you told him to spread his legs to ingratiate himself with me.”

Minimus chuckled,

“I wish I could say I was wholly responsible for Rodimus’ perversity, but…”

“Don’t play dumb with me _Senator_ ,” Magnus hissed, “I may be mercurial but I’m not stupid. I was a police officer once. Have you forgotten?”

“I did tell Rodimus to extend you every courtesy,” Minimus said, “You were his commanding officer.”

“But never his master,” Magnus said, “Which is why you’re dying first, Minimus. Because without you…”

His sword came to press uncomfortably on Minimus’ chestplate,

“He’ll _flounder_. Flounder on the precipice of the chaos I will wrought.”

“Very poetic,” Minimus tried to ignore the weight of the sword tip, “Though I think you give me too much credit. Rodimus is fully capable of acting on his own.”

“Even if he is,” Magnus said with a dubious sneer, “He’ll still try to avenge you. If not for sentimentality but the sake of his own pride. By doing so, he'll play right into my hand.”

“It appears you’ve thought of everything,” Minimus mused, “Except for one tiny detail.”

“Which is?” Magnus demanded.

Blasterfire tore through Magnus’ legs. The tall mech crumpled to the floor in a cloud of energon and fragments of plating.

Minimus smiled over at Swerve and his smoldering gun.

“You left your back to an open doorway.”

Magnus seethed, reaching vainly for his fallen sword.

Another shot. Magnus’ seeking hand exploded into oblivion. Magnus let out a howl.

“That’s enough,” Minimus called to Swerve, “I need him conscious.”

Swerve nodded. Nevertheless his blaster remained trained on Magnus as Minimus addressed the groaning mech.

“If you were still in the right frame of mind, your instincts might have seen the subterfuge in me dismissing my bodyguard,” he told him, “After all it allowed you to sneak up on me so easily. Almost too easily. But alas you were so impatient to set your plan in motion. You were rash. Sloppy.”

Magnus raised his helm painfully,

“You knew …?”

“Yes,” Minimus said, “For all your instability, you retain a certain amount of predictability Magnus. I knew it was likely you would attempt to take me out first. Therefore I arranged this little ruse.”

“So what now?” Magnus spat up a glob of energon, “You’ll kill me?”

Minimus affected a look of sympathy,

“Oh Magnus, I’m not as bloodthirsty as you. And believe it or not, I would much prefer to help you. And your distressed mind.”

As if on cue Rodimus charged into the office. With two guards at his heel.

“Mimi, you okay?”

Minimus flashed him a reassuring smile.

“Never better,” he looked to the mech who had sidled in after guards, “Rung, your formal assessment if you will.”

A single optic burned dispassionately in the psychologist’s blocky helm.

“Patient presents a high level of risk to himself and others,” he began, in a tone as emotionless as his face, “A Personality Adjustment is recommended on compassionate grounds.”

Rodimus gestured at his guards,

“Youse heard the professional. Shift him to the Institute.”  

“No,” Magnus thrashed as the guards seized hold of him, “No, you can’t… You can’t _change_ me!”

Swerve shifted to the side as the guards hauled the legless mech out the door.

“Kill me,” Magnus appealed to him uselessly, “Finish the job, soldier.”

Swerve turned away with a grimace.

“Argh, you coward,” Magnus roared, “You _puppet_!”

His tirade continued as he was dragged down the hall.

“Thank you for lending for your expertise Rung,” Minimus addressed the orange mech.

“I only wish to help mecha,” Rung stated dully.

“‘Course youse do Rang,” Rodimus crooned, “It’s what youse are programmed for. Bye bye now.”

He shook his helm as Rung shuffled away.

“Ironic he wound up like dat, after fightin’ against PA’s.”

“That’s precisely the reason he did end up like that,” Minimus remarked somewhat somberly.

“Youse know it would be kinder to drop Mags in the smelter,” Rodimus grinned, “Lot more o’ a spectacle too.”

“And squander this opportunity?” Minimus murmured, “Trepan will turn Magnus into an asset.”

“Provided the rest o’ him is fixed,” Rodimus glanced at Swerve.

“I’m sure First Aid won’t find the repairs too strenuous,” Minimus answered.

“Probably not,” Rodimus said, “He told me Hatchet left a room full o’ body parts.”

“Only one room?”

Minimus approached the minibot standing silently in the doorway,

“You did well today Swerve.”

“That was a huge gamble you took,” Swerve said by way of answer.

“Perhaps. But necessary,” Minimus patted the minibot’s arm, “I hope you don’t find our solution too cruel. Compared to execution or imprisonment, altering Magnus’ mind is far more compassionate in the long run. We’re not just saving his life. Countless others would have died in his insane crusade.”

“Understood,” Swerve said simply.

He didn’t hold much sympathy for his former commander. On the other hand he didn’t trust Minimus’ motives were as selfless as he claimed.

Minimus accepted his acquiescence with a smile. He turned back to his office.

“Ugh, what a mess. Not to mention my poor door. I can hardly be expected to work in these kind of conditions. I’ll have to take the rest of the day off.”

Rodimus smirked as he trampled over the fragments of Magnus’ legs.

“Consider it my order as Prime. In fact, I’ll take a break too. Youse are obviously traumatized from the attack.”

He scooped Minimus up in his arms.

“I gotta take care o’ youse.”

“Swerve, you’re more than welcome to take a few hours off,” Minimus suggested as Rodimus began carting him away.

“I’d prefer to remain on duty,” Swerve answered.

He always ran the risk of being spotted on his way home from the Senator’s office. Swerve wanted to avoid the hassle, especially after this particular chain of events. He wanted to be alone with his own thoughts. Standing guard outside the pair’s quarters was the only option.

“Of course,” Minimus shot him a smile before burying his face in the crook of the Prime’s neck.

They almost gave off the impression of an ordinary couple.

Almost. Swerve knew better. Even so, he fell into a dutiful pace behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I think I keep pushing the boundaries of how evil Mimi and Rahdamus are to see if they can still remain likable. I suppose you could argue that altering Magnus' mind is compassionate, if the intention wasn't to turn him into a loyal enforcer with a new face that First Aid finds in Ratchet's leftovers, one that was taken off a Decepticon prisoner with large lips...


	47. Strategy (SG)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Mimi and Rahdy being... slightly less evil? I don't know, I liked the idea of them discussing Megatron... and being in the berth.

"Youse kidding right?" Rodimus said.

He wasn't referring to the restraints Minimus was clicking him into. The ones that bound his stabilizers to his thighs. Rodimus had accepted them quite willingly, the same as the restraints currently locking his arms above his helm.

He was referring to Minimus' strange fragging sense of timing to suggest he extend peace talks to Megatron.

"I'm not kidding," Minimus said, "Peace is less expensive than war. And it would be peace on our terms."

Rodimus huffed,

"What makes youse think Megatron would accept our terms? That he would even be prepared to listen to 'em?"

"We do have a number of Decepticon POWs," Minimus finished with the leg restraints, scuttling back a little to take in his handiwork, "Mmm, widen your legs a little further, yes perfect. No don't open your panel yet. Where was I?"

"Cons. POWs," Rodimus grumbled, distracted by the order to keep his panel closed. He was already wet and hot and raring to go. Minimus locking him into place always had that effect, "Can we talk 'bout this later?"

"You're the one who asked for an explanation," Minimus said.

Rodimus groaned,

"Then can we get started while youse do the explainin'?"

"Very well," Minimus said mercifully, "Open up."

With a moan of relief, Rodimus engaged the automatic release on his panel.

"Goodness you are wet aren't you," Minimus said with blatant approval.

Rodimus let out a wanton moan in response. It was quickly followed by a whine when Minimus' hands failed to reach for his array.

"Fraggin' touch me Mimi."

"All in good time," Minimus cooed, "Anyway, as I was saying. Our number of prisoners offers enough leverage to bring Megatron to the table."

"And den what?" Rodimus rolled his hips fruitlessly, wet valve snagging nothing but air.

"We play ball. At least appear to. We offer the release of all Decepticon POWs on the proviso that peace is established. We offer Megatron a seat on the senate..."

Rodimus ceased his squirming to laugh,

"Ha him on the senate. Sittin' between Shockwave and Proteus? Ole Buckethead is against corruption, Mimi. It's the reason he started that 'peaceful revolution' o' his. He ain't gonna accept that kinda offer."

"Oh I think he might be persuaded. You're the new Prime Rodimus, it's the start of a new age. We just have to convince Megatron that we are changing things for the better. Which isn't to say we aren't, though let's face it, we have our own idea on how to run things."

"I've an idea," Rodimus said in a bright albeit strained voice, "How's 'bout youse get the biggest spike in youse collection and shove it up my valve?"

"Offering Megatron a seat on the senate," Minimus pressed on, "Would show him we are more than willing for him to have a voice."

"At least play with my node a lil."

Minimus moved to straddle his hips,

“Will you send an envoy to Megatron for peace talks?”

Rodimus arched in frustration underneath him,

“Primus, youse so fraggin’ evil,” he scowled, to which Minimus' responded with a sweet smile, waiting for Rodimus cave in to groan, “Ugh, yes, yes, alright!”

Minimus leaned to nuzzle his pouting mouth,

“Such a good Prime.”

“Damn straight I am," Rodimus grumbled as Minimus scooted down his frame, "Putting up with youse.”

Minimus reached back between Rodimus' legs, seeking his node.

“I make it worth ‘youse’ while," he mimicked the Prime's accent.

Rodimus giggled in spite of himself.

“Haha, it’s so cute when youse try to do my accent.”

He howled as Minimus pinched his node,

“Not as cute as you overloading,” he replied sweetly.

Rodimus was so worked up it only took a short time for him to climax. Minimus enjoyed the way his frame shuddered underneath him until it finally stilled. He shifted himself back up to Rodimus' blissfully smiling expression, settling comfortably in the crook of his neck.

"I'm volunteering myself as envoy."

The statement jerked Rodimus swiftly out of his post-overload haze.

"Youse?" he said, "But..."

Minimus traced his fingers over his chestplate,

"I'm the best mech to put forward our agenda."

"Meybe," Rodimus' gaze turned suspicious, "Or meybe youse want the chance to seduce him."

Minimus smiled,

"Well I always did like a challenge..."

"Mimi..." Rodimus growled.

"I'm jesting," Minimus hushed him, "An alliance is more important than sexual conquest. Besides, I believe his preferences lean more towards aerial frames."

"Pah. Youse could turn any mech's preferences, Mimi," Rodimus said fondly, "In fact, if youse somehow managed to wrangle Megs into this position, youse could probably get him to agree to anythin'."

The idea caused him to grin. It was infectious, though Minimus' smile was more reserved.

"Provided he kinks on this sort of thing," he said.

"Oh I bet he does," Rodimus said, optics gleamed with certainty, "Honorable fragger like him. Bound to like some kinky stuff in the berth."

His grin was expanding across his face.

"You're salivating," Minimus teased.

Rodimus licked his lips,

"Just imaginin' youse workin' youse magic on Megs. It's kinda hawt. Meybe we should both go to Kaon. Even if we don't get Megs in the berth, it could still be a holiday."

Minimus stroked the side of his face,

"I don't think it's wise for us to leave Iacon at the same time," he said somewhat mournfully, "Magnus is no longer an issue. But Shockwave, on the other hand..."

Rodimus sighed,

"I get youse point," he said, "But I don't like the thought of youse travelling dere alone."

"I'll have Swerve," Minimus reminded him.

"Suppose he's pretty good with a gun," Rodimus conceded somewhat resentfully, "Okay, youse can go. But on one condition..."

"More overloads?" Minimus guessed.

"Yup."

Rodimus let out a happy sigh as Minimus shifted off him to fetch his assortment of spikes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda like the idea of Mimi trying to put the charm on Megs, who is totally a sub in my mind (thanks Insec). 
> 
> I also like the idea of him and Swerve sitting together in a luxury transport to Kaon.


	48. Sub (SG & Normalverse)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I really, really wanted to write SG subMegs with Mimi and Rahdy.
> 
> And to make it even more confusing, it's regular Megs in SG Megs' body experiencing it all. 
> 
> Confused? Intrigued? Read on

 

Rodimus is spread-eagled underneath him. Though it isn't quite Rodimus, at least not the Rodimus Megatron knows as his co-Captain. This Rodimus is black and purple with his face oddly bearing the Ambus facial insignia. But the cocky smirk is familiar, albeit slightly more ominous in its intensity as he leers up at him.

The smile Minimus gives him, as he straddles Rodimus' waist, is far gentler, almost deceptively so. He isn't Megatron's Minimus, though he resembles him a lot more than this strangely colored Rodimus. The Minimus Megatron knows wouldn't be acting so composed in this bondage-like situation, one hand gripping the leash to the collar around Megatron's neck.

Megatron can feel it on his neck cables. He can also feel the restraints locking his arms behind his back. But he's mainly distracted by the pelvic covering latched over his bare valve, a small device contain therein, pressing against his anterior node. It's attached via a lead to the control Minimus is holding in his other hand.

Megatron's spike pokes from above the covering, fully pressurized, angled towards Rodimus' own seeping valve, though barely grazing it. Rodimus' smirk becomes a little strained and he rolls his hips, the only movement he can make with his arms and legs locked in position.

"C'mon Mimi," this Rodimus speaks in a thick, ridiculous accent, "Make him frag my valve."

"Patience love," this Minimus has his counterpart's enunciation but his tone is far more cheerful.

Yet as his gaze continues to hold Megatron's, the bigger mech feels an unexpected shiver down his backstrut. There's an unspoken confidence, an air of command about him, something that Megatron would usually find objectionable. But somehow he doesn't, he stares back at this strange Minimus and quails with anticipation, spike twitching. All of a sudden he feels a rush of shame.

He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be doing this. After everything he fought for… To allow himself in a position like this. With _them_.

Minimus seems to sense his second thoughts.

::We're not forcing you,:: his voice comes through private comm, ::You’re free to leave at any time. You only have to say the safeword.::

Megatron can't remember discussing the safeword yet somehow he knows it's Iacon.

And he could easily say it.

But he doesn't want to.

::I want...:: his voice sounds so unfamiliar in its hesitance, ::I want this...::

Minimus nods, smiles. Smiles! So this is what Minimus looks like when he smiles. Megatron might have fixated on its adorableness. But he's distracted by Minimus tugging his leash and Megatron finds himself shuffling forward, his spike brushing up against Rodimus' valve. Rodimus gives a whine of approval and tries to angle his hips to maneuver the tip inside.

Minimus throws him a glance over his shoulder,

"Behave," he says, and remarkably Rodimus grows still.

Minimus turns back to Megatron,

"You will move when I tell you to move," he says, the calm command in his voice growing more and more enticing with each syllable, holding Megatron in his thrall, "And you will overload when I wish you to overload. Is that understood?"

Megatron feels another shiver down his backstrut. Lubricant pooling in the recesses of his valve.

"Yes," he murmurs, appropriately subservient. Somehow the act of speaking in this tone is just as arousing as hearing the authority in Minimus'.

Minimus smiles in approval and Megatron devours the sight hungrily, awaiting his command.

"Spike him," he orders.

Megatron stumbles in his haste to obey, burying himself inside Rodimus' slick valve, much to the latter's delight.

"Big," he crows, "I can feel him stretchin' me."

Minimus chuckles, a sound of perverse approval that's a far cry from his counterpart's shyness.

"Frag him slowly," he tells him, "And remember, you stop when I say."

"Yes," Megatron grunts, half-distracted by the clench of Rodimus' calipers as he complies with Minimus' command.

He soon feels his reward. Minimus operating the controller in his hand to activate the device against Megatron's node, vibrating at low, almost torturous frequency. Megatron would have ordered him to him to increase the vibrations. But that isn't the way the scenario is supposed to play out. He's at Minimus' mercy and Megatron can't it isn't perversely gratifying, submitting himself to the other mech, allowing Minimus to assert himself over him in this way.

In a way, it's... freeing. To forfeit control. At least in regards to interface.

So he endures the niggling vibrations on his node, continuing to slowly thrust himself into Rodimus, who is beginning to squirm, more in frustration than ecstasy,

"Mimi, I won't 'load this way," he complains, "Make him frag me harder."

"Or I could tell him to pull out," Minimus threatens with a smile.

Rodimus groans. He falls silent, accepting Megatron's steady pace.

But not for long.

"Please Mimi, make him frag me harder," he whines, "I wanna 'load on his spike with youse watchin'. I wanna 'load for youse..."

Watching Rodimus beg is almost as arousing as Megatron submitting to Minimus himself. Megatron tries not to accidentally quicken his pace as Minimus answers with a thoughtful hum.

“Thrust in as deeply as you can,” he tells Megatron.

Megatron compiles, throwing his weight forward and impaling Rodimus on the entire length of his spike. Rodimus howls, engulfing Megatron’s moan at the filling of being utterly sheathed.

“Stop,” Minimus’ voice rings out before Megatron can draw back.

Instead he remains fully lodged in Rodimus’ valve, feeling his calipers clench in what feels like protest.

"Mimi," Rodimus whimpers.

“Hush,” Minimus moves to clench the leash between his denta before he leans forward, applying his fingers to Rodimus’ anterior node. Rodimus immediately begins writhing on Megatron’s stationary spike. Megatron fights the urge to fall into rhythm, quivering in place as he watches the swirl of Minimus’ skillful fingers. The vibrator is still thrumming against his own node, so agonizing in its low intensity, especially with Rodimus’ cries ringing in his audials.

“Oh, oh, frag,” Rodimus clamors, “Frag, Mimi, gonna…”

Megatron feels his valve convulse in overload. It’s exquisite, hastening forward his own overload. He catches the warning flash in Minimus’ optics. He can’t overload. He hasn’t been given permission. He clenches his denta, trying vainly to stop himself disobeying.

He succeeds, grateful when Rodimus’ own climax ebbs. Though he could do without the smug look on the mech’s face. He focuses on Minimus, shifting his fingers from Rodimus’ node to retake possession of the leash from his mouth. Likewise his gaze on him, not Rodimus’ satisfied expression behind him.

"Good Megatron,” he praises, “You're doing very well."

Megatron is taken aback by how much his spark swells with pride.

“T-thank you,” his voice is strained from his position, spike still fully impaled in Rodimus.

“You can move,” Minimus tells him, much to his relief, “Increase your pace too.”

“Yeah,” Rodimus cheers, seeming to have recovered quite swiftly from his overload, “Frag me hard, big bot.”

In the wake of his interjection, Megatron looks to Minimus for overriding approval. The smaller mech gives it with a nod. Megatron eases his spike from Rodimus’ valve, allowing lubricant to momentarily leak down onto the berth before he filled him again, fragging him with a quicker rhythm.

Suddenly he feels the vibrator on his node intensify, almost in tandem with his movements. Approval whines from his vocalizer. Hearing himself brings a flush of self-consciousness to his faceplates. He fights through it, not wanting shame to ruin this moment. Not when his whole frame is thrumming with pleasure, electrified with stimulation.

He looks at Minimus, so composed and smiling as he watches him writing. His unabashed gaze is erotic and a moan tumbles from Megatron’s vocalizer. Still he can’t afford to lose himself, not when he still hasn’t been given permission to overload. Suddenly the extra intensity of the vibrator is a source of danger. Coupled with the friction and squeeze of Rodimus’ valve, it could easily force him over the edge.

In fact he’s fast approaching the point of no return, no matter how much he tries to hold back. It’s futile with the relentless thrum of the vibrator and the fact he’s not allowed to stop fragging Rodimus.

He finds himself begging Minimus with his optics. There’s a tug on his leash and Megatron leans over Rodimus to bring his helm close to Minimus.

“Exquisite,” he says, and in the midst of the agony, Megatron feels pride burning through his circuits, “You really have exceeded my expectations. I think you deserve this…”

Small shapely lips brush the side of his helm as fingers dial up the intensity of the vibrator.

“Overload. Overload for me, Megatron.”

The soft, intimate command triggers an almost instantaneous climax. Megatron fills Rodimus with an uninhibited howl.

Suddenly the world is warping around him, slipping out of focus and the next moment Megatron is aware of his systems rebooting from recharge. Groggily he heaves himself upright, a blurry weight on his chest that sharpens into Ravage.

“You were moaning in your recharge,” Ravage’s usually dry tone carries a distinct edge of embarrassment, “It was very distracting.”

“My apologies,” Megatron can hear strains of meekness in his voice and quickly shakes them, “It was a rather vivid dream.”

Ravage shifts off him and curls up on the furthest edge of the berth.

“Obviously,” he mutters.

Megatron reclines back, turning over the events of his dream, pondering why his recharging mind would construct such a strange fantasy.

He is usually the dominant partner. Never the submissive.

Not that it hadn’t been intriguing, despite it all being an illusion.

But casting Minimus in the role of dom? The idea is even more ridiculous than dream-Rodimus’ accent.

Still, remembering the way dream-Minimus had acted, brings an undeniable tingle to his well-lubricated valve.

Megatron is grateful his array hadn’t popped open in the midst of his dream. He has traumatized Ravage enough it seems.

*

“Are you alright?”

Megatron looks down at Minimus’ concerned expression.

“You barely said anything in the meeting,” the smaller mech says, “Even when Rodimus put forward some frankly questionable ideas…”

“All his idea are questionable ideas,” Megatron sighs, “My apologies, I’m a little distracted. I had an interesting recharge dream, to say the least.”

It had been on his mind the whole meeting. It was hard to look upon Rodimus and Minimus and not have flashes of what he’d experienced the previous off-cycle.

“A datamare?” Minimus asks uneasily.

“Quite the opposite,” Megatron says somewhat hesitantly, “It was pleasant. But confusing.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“No, I wouldn’t trouble you.”

He can only imagine Minimus’ horror at Megatron recounting his dream.

“Do you have the minutes from the meeting?” he changes the subject.

“Of course, I’ll forward them to you.”

He’s already tapping intently on his datapad before Megatron can answer. Instead he watches him, the slightly frowning expression he makes when he’s concentrating.

“There. All done.”

Megatron nods,

“What would I do without you,” the words leave his mouth before he can properly register them.

Without Minimus, his life on the ship would be even more torturous than it already was. Particularly his dealings with Rodimus. Without Minimus acting as a go-between Megatron isn’t sure if Rodimus would still be alive at this point.

But it isn’t simply Minimus’ usefulness on this front. It’s the fact he’s never holding back his disdain at being in presence. That he treats him as one of the crew, as a superior, better than Megatron deserves to be treated.

Not to mention he finds his quirks and company far more tolerable than anyone else on the ship save for Ravage. The fact Minimus can’t accept a compliment without getting somewhat flustered. Like he’s doing right now, fidgeting with embarrassment. It’s endearing, far more endearing than the idea of a sexually-confident doppelganger.

Megatron’s hand reaches down to engulf his tiny shoulder.

“I’ll comm you once I’ve bought myself up to speed. Perhaps we can discuss things in my quarters.”

Minimus is still flustered as he bobs his helm.

“Yes, of course.”

He watches the co-Captain walk off down the hall before venturing back inside Rodimus’ office.

“So what’s up with Megs?” Rodimus asks, “Not that I’m complaining. I liked getting through a whole meeting without snide interruptions.”

“He said he had a dream last recharge,” Minimus answers distractedly.

“Pfft, that’s all?” Rodimus’ optics suddenly narrow, “It wasn’t some vision was it? He can’t be having visions too. That’s the last thing I need.”

His expression suddenly brightened,

“Speaking of dreams, I forgot to tell you about the one I had last night. You’re totally not going to believe it when I tell you…”


	49. Mining AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU with Minimus getting a job with mining admin in the prewar. He meets Megs. Not sure where this is going but here's a small snippet. 
> 
> Plus there's Impactor being a hostile aft :)

Minimus grumbled to himself. His first assignment off-world, his first assignment ever in fact, and he was lost. Granted it wasn't entirely his fault. The layout of the mining transport ship was unnecessarily labyrinthine with inadequate signage. The security mech who had marked off his designation on arrival had only offered the vaguest directions to the administration suite. After several frustrating wrong turns, he found himself blundering into the crowded miners' deck. He did his best not to quail as dozens of optics swarmed on him.

A purple and orange miner seated in the front row nudged the mech beside him,

"Hey Megs. The higher ups must be scrappin' the barrel if they're hirin' minis."

The mech looked up from his datapad. Minimus might have wondered what a miner was doing with a datapad. But he was distracted by the mech's look of curiosity. It was a less threatening variant than his colleague's. Nonetheless Minimus straightened his back. He was technically a superior to these mecha. He needed to show he wasn't intimidated by them. He approached the pair.

"Excuse me. Do you know the way to the administration suite?"

Orange and purple responded with a deadpan scowl,

"Do I look like I know the way to the admin suite, minibot?"

"Obviously I did, since I asked you the question," Minimus answered, "You look like a seasoned miner, I assumed you would be familiar with the layout of the ship."

"Seasoned?" the miner bared his dentae, "What the frag is that supposed to mean?"

His companion groaned,

"Would you stop looking for a fight?" he reproached, optics travelling to Minimus, "The administration deck is two floors up."

"How do you know?" the other miner snorted, "Ain't like you've been invited there."

"There's a locator map just as you enter the ship."

"There is?" Minimus fought back a wave of embarrassment, "I must have missed it."

"Probably above his optic level," the other miner laughed.

The insult made Minimus tense. Luckily his companion didn't share his humor,

"I apologize for my friend," he told Minimus, "These long flights make him difficult."

"Difficult? Oh frag you Megs," the other miner snapped, "Why are you even suckin' up to this mini in the first..."

He trailed off. Minimus assumed from their locked gaze that they were conversing over a commlink.

"What? Him?" the miner exclaimed aloud, "C'mon Megs, there's no way. Hey minibot, my friend says you're noble class."

"Well yes," Minimus said, surprised that 'Megs' knew this.

"Bullslag," the miner uttered, "You're a disposable."

Minimus' hands balled into tiny fists. He'd had quite enough of this miner's rudeness.

"I most assuredly am not," he drew himself up haughtily, "I am a member of House Ambus. Furthermore I am the newly-appointed assistant administrator of the Luna 2 outpost. You should follow your friend's example and treat me with a little more respect."

"Respect?" the miner sneered, "What are you gonna do, little bot, pistol whip me?"

"Impactor..." his companion warned.

"Assistant administrator huh?" Impactor cut over the top of him, "That sounds like a fancy word for 'secretary'. I know for a fact that Remus sure ain't a noble. Yet you're serving under him like a common..."

His mouth was muffled by his companion's servo.

"Like I said, long flights, it makes everyone a little testy," he said to Minimus.

"You don't seem testy," Minimus pointed out.

"Violence, through words or actions, solves nothing," the miner's sage tone took Minimus by surprise.

"I suppose that's true," he ended up saying.

The miner offered a small smile. It wasn't often that Minimus found himself being smiled at.

"You said you belong to House Ambus?" he asked.

Minimus was once again taken aback.

"Er, yes."

"I had figured as much when I saw your facial insignia," the miner confessed, "Do you know Dominus Ambus?"

Minimus' spark sank. Even in the bowels of a mining transport vessel, he couldn't escape his brother's infamy.

"Yes he's my spark brother," he couldn't quite keep the weariness from his voice, "Why do you ask?"

"I've read his work," the miner answered, " _The Ascetic Cybertronian_."

Minimus sighed,

"Yes it's quite a masterp..." he halted his forced praise abruptly, "You have literacy mods?"

Impactor, who had managed to wrench his mouth free, sniggered,

"That's right," he said, "He saved up his credits to buy 'em. The nerd."

Megatron threw him a glower,

"Education is the bridge to enlightenment."

He was quoting Dominus. Minimus felt a shameful wave of satisfaction when Impactor snorted in derison.

"Pfft, enlightenment," he said, "All you've done since gettin' those mods is subject me to your poetry."

"You write poetry?" Minimus couldn't quite keep the incredulity out of his voice.

"Yes..." the mech seemed a mite embarrassed, "Among other things."

"Like what?" Minimus couldn't help inquiring.

The mech suddenly looked reluctant.

"With all due respect, I'd prefer not to discuss it. The work is... unfinished."

"Of course," Minimus said respectfully, "I should be going anyway. Thank you for the directions. Uh Megs, wasn't it."

Megs sighed,

"Megatron," he said, "For some reason mecha struggle with it."

He shot a meaningful look at Impactor who smirked.

"Megatron," Minimus repeated, causing the mech to turn back with another small smile.

"And yours?"

"Minimus," he said, not all that surprised when Impactor gave a sniggering cough that sounded like 'Mini', "Though in respect to my position, Sir is more appropriate."

Megatron's smile faded into a straight line. All the same he nodded.

Impactor threw him a mock salute,

"Aye aye, Sir. Don't stumble into an airlock on your way to your comfy suite."

"Thank you for your concern," Minimus replied stiffly, "I trust you'll behave yourself for the duration of the journey."

"Sure," Impactor drawled, "I'll get Megs to read me some poetry. Send me right into recharge."

"Oh shut up," Megatron huffed.

Minimus might have left them to their quarrel. But he ended up turning back.

"I do have experience as a proofreader," he found himself saying, "If you ever require any assistance in this respect. Poetry isn't exactly my forte. Mostly treatises and essays..."

He deliberately avoided mentioning his brother's designation. Minimus had always suspected Dominus let him proofread his work more out of sympathy than need. His drafts were usually flawless, which did little for Minimus' self-esteem. He hadn't dared ask Dominus to return the favor for fear of him finding a myriad of mistakes. Not that Dominus had much time to spare anyway.

"But if you need help with punctuation and spelling," Minimus went on, "Depending on how much free time I have, I could..."

"Trust me, the problem ain't his spelling," Impactor cut in with a grunt, "He needs to write dirty stuff. That's what bots in the mines wanna hear. Here's an old favorite, 'There once was a buymech in Rodion..."

Megatron once again jammed a servo to his mouth.

"Thank you," he said over the sound of Impactor's muffled objection, "I'll keep that in mind... Sir."

Minimus nodded,

"Yes. Well, I think that's all... Dismissed," he said awkwardly. Wasn't that the proper term to use when ending a discussion with subordinates?

But Megatron didn't seem like an ordinary subordinate. He didn't seem ordinary at all. Minimus probably should have found it disconcerting. Instead he found himself intrigued. So much so that he couldn't resist glancing over his shoulder as he made his way out of the miners' section.

He was surprised to find Megatron watching him, expression pensive, seemingly deaf to whatever Impactor was snarling beside him.

Minimus quickly turned his gaze forward, embarrassed. Nonetheless his curiosity burned brighter.


	50. Photo aka the Aftermath of 'Sub' (SG)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Insec, because we were joking about Roddy and Mimi taking a photo of Megs while he was passed out from overload.

Rodimus chuckled at the powered-down Megatron sprawled on top of him.

"Lightweight," he said, "Only lasted one overload."

"It was quite an agonizing build-up," Minimus mused, "And to his credit, he didn't beg."

"Pfft," Rodimus snorted, "If youse are referring to my first time..."

"You know I am," Minimus smiled.

"Least I didn't pass out after my first overload," Rodimus finished haughtily.

Minimus swiveled around on his chestplate to look at him fondly,

"No, you cuddled up to me like a contented pet."

Rodimus smirked,

"Then I gave youse the overload of youse life," he tilted his helm with a perverse leer, "Speakin' of which. Youse hasn't 'loaded yet. How's 'bout youse back up here over my face."

Minimus glanced back at Megatron,

"With Megatron passed out on top of you?"

"Just 'cause he's passed out don't mean we need to stop."

"Isn't he heavy though?" Minimus inquired.

"Nah," Rodimus said, "I mean, he's a lil heavy. But I can deal. If my legs were free, I could meybe kick him off."

"He'll hardly come back again if you kick him to the floor."

Rodimus scowled,

"Like him that much do youse?"

"You can't deny he lends an interesting dynamic," Minimus answered, "With more practice, he'll last longer."

Rodimus shook his helm,

"Can't believe he actually agreed to this. No offence Mimi. It's hard sayin' no to youse. But he _is_ the leader of the Cons."

"Every bot has his needs," Minimus leaned forward to caress the top of Megatron's helm, "We're helping him fulfill his."

Rodimus laughed,

"Youse makin' it sound like we're the good guys."

Minimus chuckled,

"Oh yes we're the saints of interface."

"Ha, I like dat. Come sit on my face Saint Mimi."

"Saint Mimi still thinks we should wake up Megatron first."

"Ugh fine," Rodimus grumbled, "But before that, I want a photo."

"A photo?"

Rodimus gestured as best he could with his helm,

"My communicator's over 'dere."

"Why do you want a photo?"

"I dunno. Could be good for blackmail."

"He's already agreed to peace," Minimus said sternly, "There's no reason to blackmail him."

"Okay, well, I still wanna a photo," Rodimus persisted, "For my personal collection."

Minimus clambered up Rodimus' chestplate to lean over his face,

"If I take a photo, I do not want it circulating around," he said with proper severity, "Do you understand? You will lose interface privileges indefinitely."

"Aw c'mon Mimi, youse can trust me," Rodimus smiled brightly.

"Not when it comes to gloating and pranks," Minimus said, "But you've been warned."

He used the specially installed steps on the side of the berth to fetch the communicator. He also grabbed a cube of energon from the dispenser.

"Get youself in the photo," Rodimus said as Minimus angled the communicator in front of Megatron's sleeping face.

"I'm not implicating myself," Minimus replied, "If he finds out, it's all on you."

Rodimus giggled when he was shown the photo.

"Aww he looks cute when he's passed out from an overload."

"He does, doesn't he."

Minimus subspaced the communicator. Megatron barely stirred as Minimus undid his arm restraints. They clunked on the floor, the jarring sound rebooting Megatron's systems. He came to life groggily, groping Rodimus' frame.

"S'rscream," he slurred.

"Starscream?" Rodimus said, "Youse are lucky me and Mimi are hard to offend."

Megatron straightened with confusion.

"Oh," he said, staring at the pair, "I..."

He realized he was still buried in Rodimus' valve and hastily withdrew. Minimus watched the ooze of escaping transfluid before offering up the cube.

"Here," he said, "You should refuel."

Megatron accepted the cube. He seemed somewhat at a loss. Minimus supposed it was understandable, given this was the aftermath of their first interface.

"Lean down," he said gently, "I'll undo the collar."

He was the only one who knew the unlocking code. Megatron did as he asked.

"I hope you enjoyed yourself?" Minimus tried to engage him politely.

"Yes," Megatron's voice seemed distant, "Yes it was..."

His optics focused more attentively on Minimus,

"Yes."

Minimus smiled,

"Perhaps we can meet again sometime."

Megatron averted his gaze with the shyness of a much younger mech.

"I'll... I'll consider it," he said gruffly, "For now I think it's best I retire."

He moved away from the berth, only to realize he was still wearing the vibrating covering. He scrambled to remove it and snapped his panel shut.

Minimus bit back a smile as Megatron thrust the covering at him.

"See youse next Senate session," Rodimus called after his retreating form cheerfully, "It's youse turn to bring the snacks."

Megatron halted,

"Snacks?" he said wearily.

"Yes snacks," Rodimus said, "Don't act so gloomy. Optimus had more insane requests than snacks."

"I'll bring snacks," Megatron said after a moment, "But only if you agree to a free energon ration for the rest of the population." 

"That's hardly the same cost as a few measly snacks," Rodimus argued.

Megatron shrugged,

"Then you can go without. Please message me if you change your mind."

"See this is when a blackmail photo could come in handy," Rodimus grumbled in the wake of his departure.

Minimus moved to nuzzle his face,

"Agree to the energon. It's one-time only and good for publicity."

Rodimus huffed,

"Will youse give me more overloads?" he asked.

Minimus shifted into a straddling position over his mouth.

"Not until you give me mine," he said, opening his panel and promptly sinking down.


	51. Small Mech, Big Guns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because if Whirl saw Minimus wielding big ass guns, he would find it hot. 
> 
> Because if Rodimus saw Minimus wielding big ass guns (in a non life threatening Tyrest situation), he would find it hot. 
> 
> I dare anyone to tell me otherwise. I. Dare. You!

Rodimus was not expecting Whirl of all people to waltz into Magnus' office and state the following.

"Oi law bot, you up for some pew-pew-pew?" with claws (poorly) miming gun shots.

And he certainly wasn't expecting Magnus to answer in the affirmative.

"Yes I'll be there shortly."

"'Kay, I'll load 'em up for you," Whirl said, in the midst of Rodimus' jaw hanging open.

"Hold on sec," he blurted, "What the hell is going on?"

"Oh just me and big bot palling it on shooting range," Whirl's optic regarded Rodimus tauntingly, "Jealous much."

He practically skipped out of Magnus' office, leaving the latter looking sheepish.

"How long has this been going on?" Rodimus demanded.

"Since a cycle or so ago,"  Magnus sighed, "I went to practice and Whirl happened to be there."

Rodimus raised an optical ridge,

"And you're suddenly shooting buddies?"

"He actually behaves himself surprising well. He even reloads the guns for me."

"Whirl?" Rodimus repeated dubiously, "Behave?"

He shook his helm,

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because..." Magnus said reluctantly, "I thought you would feel... Left out."

"Damn straight I feel left out," Rodimus said, "I mean I don't give a slag about Whirl. But I wanna shoot guns with you."

He rose in his seat,

"Starting right now."

"You have bridge duty," Magnus reminded him, "Perhaps another time. I promise."

Rodimus gave a whine of protest. The effect of which was lost on Magnus since he was currently disengaging from the Armor.

"You shoot without your Armor?"

"I alternate," Minimus said as he climbed from the Armor's chest cavity, "I'm outside the Armor a lot more frequently now. I thought it would be wise to hone my shooting skills in my true form, in case a situation erupts and the Armor isn't nearby."

The memory of Minimus shooting Tyrest with a gun twice his size replayed in Rodimus' processor.

Mech, that had been so bad aft. Now Rodimus was itching to watch Minimus on the range.

"Can't I fob bridge duty on Megs?" he pleaded.

"I doubt he would agree to it," Minimus said.

Rodimus scowled. Stupid Megs. Stupid bridge duty.

Wait, the bridge had access to all the surveillance cams. Including the one for the shooting range. Rodimus could easily pull it up on his console and watch. 

"Welp, nothing I can do," he said, much to Minimus' surprise, "Have fun at the range Mags. I'll be on the bridge, doing my Captainly duty."

Rodimus knew from experience it was easy to bring up any screen without being noticed by the crew on bridge. The reason he made it through mind-numbing hours of bridge duty was sneaking in games of virtual fullstasis. Mainframe and co were none the wiser when Rodimus pulled up the screen for the shooting range.

Minimus was already there. Whirl was in the process of handing him a heavy artillery gun. One that dwarfed Minimus in size, though really most things dwarfed Minimus. But Minimus accepted it as though it weighed nothing. Rodimus leaned forward with interest. Minimus' Point One Percenter ability at work. It was kind of awe-inspiring, watching Minimus shift the gun into position, lining up his shot.

Whirl seemed similiarly transfixed. With Minimus' attention locked on his target, the rotormech shuffled a little closer. Minimus fired a succession of rounds and Whirl's optic narrowed with pleasure.

"Oh you devious fragger," Rodimus hissed under his breath.

"Er, what was that Sir?" Mainframe asked.

"Uh nothing," Rodimus rose from his command chair, "I just remembered I... I have an important Captain thing. You guys can hold the fort for five? Not send anything into meltdown? Cool. I'll be back."

"Where do you think he's going?" Mainframe said after Rodimus' hasty exit.

"Probably to throttle the mech who just beat him at fullstasis," Blaster said dryly.

Rodimus realized he had moved to action prematurely. He couldn't burst into the shooting range with Minimus still present. That would mean revealing he had been spying on him. Instead he comm'd Whirl.

::Whirl, report to my office.::

::Can't. Busy with my BFF.::

Rodimus gritted his dentae,

::Yeah I know. I saw. Get your aft to my office before I chuck you in the brig.::

There was a long deliberate pause.

::Yes your Majesty.::

Some time later Whirl swaggered into his office.

"Yeah?" he asked, more challenge than question.

"I knew there was something going on," Rodimus launched into something of a rehearsed tirade, "Magnus said you were on your "best behavior" at the range and I know why. You're having a big pervefest!"

"No slag _Nightbeat_ ," Whirl drawled, "It's a teeny bot wielding massive guns. Of course it's a pervefest. It's frikkin' hot."

Rodimus bit back the urge to agree. Instead he channeled Magnus, crossed his arms and tried to act appropriately stern.

"You know I'm telling him."

Whirl threw up his claws agitatedly,

"It's harmless perving. It's not like I'm gonna start humping his aft as he lines up his shot. I have self-control, unlike some people."

"You self-control?" Rodimus snorted, "Face it Whirl, you can't give me one good reason not to tell Magnus."

"How about 'because you'll lose your perve opportunity too'?"

Rodimus' mouth dropped open for the second time that cycle.

"What?"

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" Whirl said, "If you tell lawmech he's a gun kink, he'll avoid the shooting range like the plague. So no one's gonna get their perve on. Including you."

Rodimus fought back a scowl. He had a point. But Rodimus wasn't about to admit it.

"What makes you think I get off on anything gun-related?"

"Oh I dunno," Whirl said airily, "That one night you stumbled back to my hab suite with me."

Rodimus stiffened,

"I told you never to bring that up," he hissed.

"You know," Whirl went on with contemplative glee, "I wonder what lawmech would think if I told him you..."

"Stop, stop," Rodimus ordered, "Okay I get what you're getting at."

"So you won't tell lawmech?"

"Maybe not, for now," Rodimus sighed, "But I'm warning you Whirl, if you lay one claw on him..."

"I won't," Whirl said, "I know you won't believe me but it isn't just a pervefest. It's actually fun. He isn't threatening me with infractions every five minutes. And watching him shoulder those big boys, it's pretty amazing. Not to mention he hits his marks."

Rodimus held his gaze for a long moment.

"You're right. I don't believe you."

Whirl cackled in response.

"Worth a try huh? Have fun pervin' via security cam."

He exited Rodimus' office with a cheerful wave. Rodimus slumped in his chair, guilt festering in his spark.

"Oh mech," he muttered, "I'm going straight to the Pit."

All because of small mechs with big guns.


	52. Face Paint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because Magnus would look sexy in Camien face paint. Or at least Roddy thinks.
> 
> Inspired by the Combiner Hunters issue, with Chromia and the other Camiens being forced to wear cityspeaker paint for the Camien-Cybertronian alliance celebration. Because if Roddy heard about it he would be all 'Holiday, all work is cancelled, let's get drunk at Swerve's' with Nautica and Velocity painting everyone's faces because it's a novelty.

Magnus rubbed irritably at the red paint under his optics.

To be fair he couldn't exactly criticize Rodimus' decision to observe the celebration marking the alliance between Cybertron and Caminus. The _Lost Light_ did have two Camiens among the crew. But Magnus knew Rodimus well enough to know his main motive was to get out of work.

Which was why he was most likely at Swerve's, getting overcharged in Camien face paint. Hardly a respectful way to mark the passing of such a significant occasion, from Magnus' point of view.

At least Rodimus had consented to keeping the _Lost Light_ running on a skeletal crew. Magnus had volunteered himself. He felt no need to be involved in the festivities, though he had relented to Nautica painting his face. He felt it was the respectful thing to do, though he was unaccustomed to the markings and found them distracting.

He kept catching his reflection on the main console as he sat in the command chair, supervising the bridge. The red was a stark contrast against the blue. Granted the markings weren't as ridiculous or insulting as the time Rodimus had drawn a moustache on the face of the Magnus Armor, to quote ‘match the inside’.

At least Rodimus had used temporary paint. Nautica had mentioned the ceremonial paint was more or less permanent. Magnus fought the urge to rub at the paint again. It wasn't seemly for the senior officer on duty to act so fidgety. It didn't matter that the only other mech on the bridge happened to be Perceptor, who was multi-tasking on two screens.

Even when Rodimus burst unexpectedly onto the bridge, the scientist barely paused from his concentration.

"Hey Mags, Nautica told me you actually let her paint your face and I just wanted to..."

He skidded to a halt in front of Magnus, optics wide.

"Wow."

The word, coupled with the intensity of Rodimus' gaze, bought a flush of heat to Magnus' cheekplates.

"Hey Percy?" Rodimus said, optics still trained on Magnus.

"Yes?"

"Beat it."

Perceptor let out a small huff. All the same he rose from his seat.

"I'll be in my lab if I'm needed."

"That was uncalled for," Magnus reproached Rodimus.

The co-Captain affected a look of innocence,

"But we needed privacy."

"What for?"

"So I can tell you how sexy you look in that paint," Rodimus smirked.

Magnus' fingers clenched the armrests, regarding Rodimus with a mix of embarrassment and annoyance,

"Don't tease me."

"No Mags I mean it. That red paint really suits you..."

Somehow Rodimus ended up on Magnus' lap, fingers on his cheek.

"Maybe it's the contrast against the blue. I dunno, whatever it is, it's working."

"Well," Magnus was somewhat at a loss, "Uh, it suits you too."

Rodimus snorted,

"Scrap it does, you can barely notice it on me. Not with my coloring," he chuckled, "Guess you can't improve on perfection."

He nuzzled his nose to Magnus' before reeling back with an expression of delight.

"Hey I have an idea," to which Magnus let out a preemptive groan.

"I have an idea" in Rodimus-speak usually meant "I have an idea that you're not going to like".

The groan did little to stifle Rodimus' enthusiasm,

"Let's pretend you're a Camien diplomat," he said, "And I'm charged with showing you a good time."

His hand slipped down to palm Magnus' array.

"A _really_ , good time."

Magnus caught hold of Rodimus' hand and stilled its devious motion.

"Camiens mark their faces in this way to honor Caminus. I don't think it's entirely respectful to exploit the practice for the purpose of role play. Especially given the nature of the celebration taking place."

Rodimus let out a heavy ex-vent,

"Mags, it's not like I wanna record us and send it to the Madame of the Flame. Cause a diplomatic incident. No one's gonna know."

"Even so," Magnus said, "I wouldn't feel comfortable. Not with Nautica and Velocity as members of this crew. Besides, I'm not good at role play."

Rodimus' look of frustration softened,

"I guess you're right. It's not really your thing."

His mouth shifted into a bright smile,

"Alright, change of plans. You're you and I'm me. We just happen to have painted our faces with _non_ -culturally significant red paint. Yours looks fraggin' hot so we frag in the command chair."

Magnus sighed. At least when Rodimus put it this way, they weren't in breach of any cultural insensitivity. Just a general lack of professionalism given their location and the fact Magnus was on duty.

But then, leaving the bridge to take Rodimus to the berth was a gross act of negligence in itself.

So really he had no choice. At least that was what he told himself as he surrendered to the idea.

The co-Captain had begun rutting against his hand. Magnus twisted it around, gingerly stroking his array in a gesture of consent. Rodimus exposed himself with a happy moan, coating Magnus' fingers with sticky lubricant.

"See what you do to me," Rodimus cooed, "Pretty, pretty Magnus."

Despite himself, Magnus' circuits sang with approval. And his fingers seemed to move of their accord, wedging inside of Rodimus' sopping valve in reward.

"Yes," Rodimus squirmed a little, adjusting to the stretch to his valve, smile so wide and resplendent on his face, optics still hungrily devouring his facial markings, "So pretty. And big. Like… Caminus himself."

Caminus? Magnus eyed the mech in his lap, worrying that he hadn’t quite dropped the idea of role playing. That he had in fact envisioned something a lot more sacrilegious.

His fingers slowed their push into Rodimus’ valve,

“What did you call me?”

“Um, pretty?” Rodimus tried to grind down on his digits.

“You called me Caminus,” Magnus said, “We decided, no role playing.”

Rodimus gave a whine as Magnus started to withdraw his fingers.

“Who’s role playing? I said _like_ Caminus,” his expression was openly pleading, “I thought it would be sexy. C’mon Mags, keep fragging me. Please.”

Magnus studied him a moment,

“As long as we’re on the same page.”

“We _are_ ,” Rodimus groaned, “Primus, we are. Mags, please, _please_.”

His insistence was persuasive enough. Rodimus sighed as Magnus’ fingers sunk back inside his valve.

“Mech, Magnus, you really have nothing to worry about,” he chided him, “You make it impossible to imagine you as anyone else. With or without sexy face paint.”

Good, Magnus thought, priding himself on hitting a node that made Rodimus arch back with a wail.


	53. Sub II (SG)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More SG Megs and Mimi. With some SG Starscream thrown in. And Swerve.

It's not the same. Despite how pleasurable it is to have Starscream's valve clenching his spike. Hearing his breathy cries as Megatron's fingers trail over the familiar outline of his wings. The pleasure's there, but it's nothing compared to the thrill he experienced at the hands of the Senator. There's no leash or restraints, no calmly spoken orders, no potential for punishment or challenge to obey.

It's not the same, and it's tormenting him. Starscream's enjoyment seems to make it worse. He's happily in his element, submitting to Megatron's thrusts, writhing beneath them. He's where Megatron wants to be. But he has no place resenting him for it. Quite the opposite. He wants to give him what he wants. He deserves it. Starscream, his loyal Second, his successor. He deserves all the pleasure Megatron can give him. But at the same time Megatron can't stop the words that topple from his vocalizer,

"Tell me when to overload."

"What?" Starscream moans distractedly.

Megatron burns with shame. But something in him is driven to repeat the words,

"Tell me when to overload."

Starscream arches back to meet his thrust,

"Anytime," he breathes, submissive and eager and completely misreading Megatron's request, "Anytime you want. I want you to overload in me. Please."

Megatron feels a mix of disappointment and guilt. His hands fall from Starscream's wings, to his hips, fragging him more roughly, hoping the friction will be enough to bring about his overload. The way it has in the past. Megatron never quite understood why it took him longer than other mecha to achieve climax. He had attributed it to a lack of sexual interest. How wrong he was. The Senator has shown him the truth.

Starscream is still moaning encouragements underneath him. It's making things worse. But his Second is only trying to please him. Megatron holds his glossa and tries to shut him out. In desperation he recalls the memory of the Senator. His voice, his words, his gaze. It's effective, his arousal skyrockets, pushing him more swiftly towards climax. He imagines the Senator granting permission in his audial and he spills into Starscream with a harsh cry.

The satisfaction of overload is short-lived. Starscream rolls onto his backstrut and smiles up at him. Smiles with the contentment that Megatron should feel, but doesn't, because he's consumed with guilt. He joins him lying on the berth, aware he's trying to avoid his gaze. He curls his arm around him, Starscream wriggling closer,

"That was nice," he murmurs.

"Yes," Megatron forces out.

He tightens his embrace. It's something of a relief. He likes holding him. He doesn't have to fake that. Nor the small joy he feels from stroking his wings and hearing Starscream sigh.

"You're very quiet," Starscream says, after a moment.

"Am I not usually quiet?" Megatron asks.

"Only when you're working on something. Or thinking."

Megatron ex-vents,

"I'm wondering if the alliance wasn't an error in judgement."

It isn't exactly a lie. A part of him wishes the Senator had never come to Kaon. He wishes Soundwave had never dug up footage of the minibot participating in filmed interface. He wishes he had never experienced his first throb of arousal, witnessing the Senator's expertise on screen.  Of course it hadn't affected his decision to agree to the alliance based on the benefit for all of Cybertron. He didn't trust the Senator or his Prime. But peace was at least worth attempting after so many years of war.

But the porn-vids had planted the seed of curiosity. Curiosity only further inflamed when the Senator kept suggesting he meet with Rodimus and himself in private, Megatron finally succumbing. And oh what a revelation that first encounter had been.

Starscream's caress shakes him from his contemplation.

"I had my doubts, you know that," he says, "We both know the Prime can't be fully trusted. But at least without war, we're making progress in Kaon. The Science Academy is almost ready for it's first intake of students."

Starscream smiles and Megatron feels a more welcome wave of pride. The Science Academy is Starscream's main project. The first learning institution open to all mecha regardless of mode or class. Both Autobots and Decepticons have been involved in the building process, setting an example that the two factions are capable of working together.

"I'm proud with what you've achieved," he tells him, "You're going to make a fine leader."

"Only with your guidance, Sir," Starscream replies humbly.

Megatron might have protested. But he's distracted by the ping of a private transmission. It's from the Senator's frequency and for a moment Megatron worries about the nature of the content. To his relief it's more business than flirtation.

**The Prime has agreed re. energon. Please organize snacks accordingly :)**

Followed by his official signature,

**Minimus Ambus, Senatorial Representative of Ambustus Minor.**

"What is it?" Starscream asks in the wake of his silence.

"A message from Senator Ambus," Megatron says, "Rodimus has agreed to my proposal for a population-wide energon increase. It's only a one off, of course. But it's something I suppose."

"Guess I'm not the only one achieving good things," Starscream smiles.

Megatron strokes his wings in response.

"Tell me more of Kaon."

Starscream obliges, until his vocalizer grows sluggish and he drifts into recharge. Megatron by contrast is wide awake, thoughts once again turning to the Senator. He curses the way the minibot has a way of burrowing under his plating. The smiley face on his message. The mischievous familiarity. It irks him. But not as much as the way memories of interface keep resurfacing in his processor. The way his valve slicks with unwelcome arousal. He carefully disengages himself from Starscream's frame and heads for the door.

*

Megatron stands outside the Senator's office. A conscious act of self-sabotage, travelling here instead of his quarters at this time of night. But fate has other plans it seems, judging by the presence of Ambus' bodyguard. 

Swerve. The Autobots call him the 'Heroic Sniper'. He's something of a celebrity. He was responsible for the death of many Decepticons. But he doesn't seem particularly smug about this fact as he stares up at Megatron. He's not smiling, though the rigidness of his expression seems more pensive than hostile.

"Are you here to see Senator Ambus, Senator?" he asks.

Megatron plunges ahead,

"Yes."

"I'll let him know."

Megatron waits as he makes the call. Swerve then motions him through.

"Go right in."

"Thank you," Megatron says, adding before he steps through the door, "There's no need to address me as Senator. Megatron is fine."

Swerve studies him a moment before something of an inscrutable nod.

"If you prefer."

He resumes his watch as Megatron ventures inside. Ambus is sitting at his ornate desk, tapping away at a datapad. He glances up with a grin,

"Megatron," he greets him, "What an unexpected pleasure."

"I received your message," Megatron finds himself saying.

Ambus chuckles,

"So you came all this way to respond to it?"

A smile settles on his face. A knowing smile.

"Or perhaps you're here for another reason."

The honeyed tones of his voice brings on another flood of memories. Megatron's valve aches.

"I..." Megatron takes a moment to compose himself, as best he can, "I wish to continue our... Arrangement."

He can only hope it will cleanse the need from his systems. That in time his interest will wan. But a part of him already knows this is naive.  He's transfixed as Ambus leans forward, studying him just as intently. 

"Well," he says brightly, "I'm very _excited_ to hear that."

He pushes his datapad to one side,

"Would you like to continue right now?"

Megatron nods, heat prickling in his valve. 

"Wonderful," Ambus croons, motioning him closer.

He watches Ambus open one of his desk compartments. He withdraws a vibrator, it's sudden emergence surprising Megatron. 

"You keep paraphernalia in your desk?"

Ambus laughs,

"Your surprise is adorable," he says, "Of course I keep paraphernalia in my desk. It saves me carting it around in my subspace. Open your array."

Megatron complies, flushing slightly at the reveal of his lubricant slickened valve. Ambus studies it with a smile before he attaches the vibrator and switches it to a low setting. The stimulation is pleasurable but not enough to bring him to overload. But that's what Ambus wants, he's in control.

"Sit," he directs Megatron to a nearby chair, abandoning the controller on his thigh.

He returns to his own chair, retrieving his datapad.

"I'm going to finish my work. Then you're going to suck my spike. Afterwards, if I'm feeling generous, I'll allow you to overload. Any objections?"

"No," Megatron answers, arousal spiking at the imagery of Ambus' instructions.

"No?" Ambus inquires.

Megatron flounders a little before he comprehends.

"No Sir."

"Good," Ambus praises, then shifts his attention to his datapad.

Megatron watches, waits. There will be guilt later, he knows, especially from leaving Starscream alone in his berth. But in the present moment he loses himself in a state of happy submission.


	54. Sub III (SG)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frag I had to write more SG, more SG Megs and Mimi getting his spike sucked. I just had to.

Some minibots tended to avoid oral interface from larger mecha. It made them self-conscious. Minimus was the opposite. He held no embarrassment when it came to the size of his spike. It was perfectly proportional to his frame. And he adored having a big mech like Megatron easily swallow the entirety of his spike. Granted Megatron lacked a lot in technique. But his eagerness more than made up for it, the way his optics stared up at Minimus, desperate to gauge his pleasure.

Minimus reached for the top of his helm and rolled his hips forward. His spike wasn't long enough to hit the back of his intake but Megatron's subsequent moan sent pleasing vibrations over the length. Minimus wasn't sure if it was the dominance of his movement or the vibrator still ticking away at Megatron's anterior node. Whatever the reason, he smiled, holding Megatron's wide gaze, grinding his hips again.

"Oh yes, you're very eager, aren't you?"

The way Megatron flushed, mouth still closed around his spike, was adorable. In fact his whole aura of inexperience was adorable. So different from Rodimus' initial cockiness, though that had made it all the more satisfying to reduce Rodimus to a quivering wreck. There was no need to be so ruthless with Megatron, his obedience was it's own aphrodisiac. Minimus had already decided it was worth rewarding him once he reached his climax. Which would be soon enough if Megatron kept sucking away as dutifully as he was doing.

An incoming comm. pinged over the wet sounds of Megatron's mouth. Rodimus' ID. Minimus answered it. Rodimus must have woken from recharge and wondered...

::Mimi, where are youse?::

::At the office. Working on your latest speech.::

::'Bout how amazin' I am, dolin' out energon to the schmucks?::

Megatron's glossa managed to brush a particularly sensitive spot and Minimus sighed,

::That's the one.::

::Oh yeah?:: Rodimus drawled, ::Sounds to me more like youse gettin' youse spike sucked.::

Minimus smiled.

::How do you know I'm not self-servicing?::

Rodimus snorted,

::Why self-service when youse can get another bot to do it for youse?:: his voice suddenly rose in excitement, ::Is it Swerve? Did youse finally convince him to suck youse off?::

Minimus' fingers caressed the top of Megatron's bobbing helm.

::No it's Megatron.::

::Megs?:: Rodimus exclaimed, :: What's he doin' there?::

Minimus chuckled, prompting a quizzical look from Megatron. Minimus gently pushed him back to task with thrust of his hips.

::You mean besides the obvious?::

::So youse are fraggin' without me?:: the pout in Rodimus' voice was audible.

::You were unimpressed with his stamina,:: Minimus replied, ::I thought it might be a good idea to work on him alone for a while.::

Rodimus laughed,

::Youse greedy lil glitch,:: he said fondly, ::Hey, can youse ask him what snacks he's bringin'? A few poxy energon sticks ain't gonna cut it. Not with the amount of energon I'm forkin' out.::

::I'll ask him when he's finished.::

::Oh and no Kremzeek. Dat's a beverage, not a snack.::

::Yes I recall you telling...:: Minimus was momentarily distracted by a strong ripple of charge, ::Roller.::

::Oh youse are close aren't youse?:: Rodimus' voice was thick with pleasure, ::I can tell. Frag, youse should stay on the line, I wanna hear you 'load.::

::You're so perverse,:: Minimus couldn't hide his grin.

::Youse love it,:: Rodimus crooned, ::C'mon moan a lil louder Mimi. Put on a show for me and Megsy.::

Why not? Minimus thought. Rodimus was correct. He was close. And he wasn't a stranger to exhibitionism, though he wasn't one for overacting. There was no finesse in screeching at the top of your vocalizer. Minimus increased his volume only slightly, in no way faking the noises that Megatron was milking from him. Megatron's gaze seemed to intensify, only adding to his arousal. There was something very fetching about the vulnerability in those red optics.

And that mouth, that hot spacious mouth clamped around his spike. Minimus allowed his helm to tip back as overload engulfed him, vocalizing his approval in a long happy moan. Megatron reeled slightly at the onslaught of transfluid but didn't detach. He stilled, watching as Minimus caught his breath.

::Ugh, now I'm hard,:: Rodimus complained in his audial, ::How long 'til youse get back?::

Minimus imagined him stroking his heated array.

::That depends on Megatron,:: he said.

::Eh, so not long then,:: Rodimus joked, ::I'll be waitin'. Rahdamus out.::

Minimus refocused his attention on Megatron, mouth still wrapped around his de-pressurized spike and nodded. Megatron released it with a wet pop. Transfluid trickled down his chin. He twitched, looking uncomfortable but making no move to wipe it. Minimus was impressed at the show of commitment, he reached to clean his chin himself.

"On your back," he told him.

Megatron complied with something of a small groan. Minimus could see the vibrator still buzzing away on his node. He hopped down from his chair, squatting between Megatron's thighs. Megatron whimpered as he shifted the vibrator from his node, inserting it ever so slightly into the valve.

"Just look at this node," he crooned, "So swollen. You won't last very long if I touch it."

Another whimper. Hardly the begging that came from Rodimus at this point but almost as sweet.

"Remember, you overload when I say," he reminded him.

He pressed a finger to the node, gave it a slight rub.

"Yes," Megatron gasped.

Minimus didn’t prolong his suffering from too long. He was keen to watch his overload and granted permission in the middle of rolling and squeezing his node between two fingers. There was something satisfyingly theatrical watching a bigger size mech overload. The way their frames jerked and shuddered. Megatron’s was no exception as he rode out the charge.

Minimus was pleased when he remained conscious. Though he was noticeably silent, only issuing a small moan when Minimus eased the vibrator from his valve, subspacing a cloth and removing any trace of fluids.

"You can sit up," he told Megatron as he placed the vibrator back in the compartment with the rest of his office interface toys.

Megatron sat up. Gloom settling over his faceplates.

"Why do I enjoy this?" he asked aloud, "I believe mecha shouldn't be subjugated. And yet I... I like you controlling me."

Minimus was taken slightly by surprise. He wasn't used to this kind of response after interface. But he could certainly understand it, coming from a mech like Megatron. He returned to his side,

"The why I can't really explain. Some mecha enjoy submission, others enjoy domination. Some enjoy a bit of both. But I can tell you your interface preferences have little to do with your political beliefs. They are completely different things. Take a mech who likes being whipped in the berth, does that mean he wants to be slave?"

"No," Megatron conceded, "I suppose you're right."

Still he was pensive. Minimus placed a hand on his shoulder,

"You want my advice? Don't read so much into things. Just enjoy yourself."

Megatron met his gaze, nodded, though he didn't look entirely convinced. Minimus didn't push any further. This was something Megatron could only come to terms with himself.

"You did well tonight," he said instead, "I can see this being a very... pleasurable arrangement. Though you must excuse me, I'm needed elsewhere."

He was thinking of Rodimus. Namely his aroused state.

"Of course," Megatron rose to his feet, "Don't let me keep you."

Minimus walked him to the door,

"I'll see you in the senate," he said in farewell, "Oh, and our Prime has requested no energon sticks or Kremzeek. Swerve, do you have a preference?"

"For sweets?" Swerve said gruffly, "I didn't mind what Shockwave bought last time. Those enerJelly things."

"Oh yes," Minimus smiled, "They were nice. How about some of those?"

"I'll take it into consideration," Megatron said wearily.

He turned on his heel, muttering something that sounded like 'insane'. Minimus' smile widened,

"So nice he's fitting in," he commented aloud.


	55. Dominimus (SG)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More SG. Not quite sub Megs but a fair bit of Mimi and Swerve. 
> 
> Thanks to Insec, for chatting with me about SG and exactly where Dominus would end up after fleeing Cybertron :)

Swerve hadn't expected to find the Senator's twin in a primitive hut on a mudball planet. Well, almost twin. This mech was larger than Minimus and bore a slightly different color scheme. At least from what Swerve could make out underneath the tribalistic streaks of paint smeared on his frame. Similar to the markings worn by the green organic savages who had escorted them to the hut, chanting "Dominimus, Dominimus" while gesticulating at Minimus.

Swerve now realized they had been drawn to the Senator's facial insignia. It was the most notable feature the two shared, though the other mech's was chipped in places, lacking Minimus' polished sheen. Swerve caught a flicker of embarrassment in his EM field, though it was mostly swallowed by hostility and surprise.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

Minimus' own EM field spilled out into the confines of the hut, openly rapturous.

"Can't a mech pay his spark brother a visit?"

He peered around the hut,

"So this is what information-selling to the Galactic Council earns you? How... rustic."

He glanced back at the cluster of organic escorts.

"And the people, so quaint. Though they seem to have trouble pronouncing your designation, Dominus."

As if on cue, the savages resumed their chanting,

"Dominimus! Dominimus!"

"Enough," Dominus bellowed, "Get out. Out!"

The organics understood the tone enough to obey. Dominus slumped in his high backed chair of bone and furs.

"Disgusting filth," he muttered before drawing himself up more haughtily, "They see me as a God."

"My sparkfelt congratulations," Minimus said, "You always did put yourself on a pedestal."

Dominus responded to his cheerful sarcasm with a glare,

"Why are you really here Minimus?" he growled, "To gloat?"

His optics traveled to Swerve, specifically to the blaster in his hands. 

"Or are you here to put me out of my misery?"

Minimus shook his helm pityingly,

"Oh Dominus, if I wanted you dead, you wouldn't have made it off Cybertron."

Dominus clenched his fists,

"What then? Spit it out before I call for those idiots to come in and kill you. They'll do it. They offer me sacrifices all the time."

"I was wondering about the carcasses outside your hut," Minimus said pleasantly, "Aren't you bothered by the smell?"

Dominus' expression turned pained,

"If I tell them to take them away, they just bring more. They're dumber than mechanimals."

"Well they are organics," Minimus said, "Organics who wouldn't fare well against Cybertronian firepower."

Dominus once again glanced at Swerve's blaster. He ground his dentae,

"Tell me what you want," there was an air of defeat in the demand.

"I do admit I wasn't telling the whole truth before," Minimus said by way of answer, "I did come to witness you in this squalor. But I also came for Rewind."

Dominus' optics widened,

"The dataslug?" he spluttered.

"Rewind," Minimus emphasized the designation, "I know you took him with you. Where he is?"

"Why?" Dominus said, "What could you possibly want..."

"Where is he, Dominus?" Minimus cut over him.

Dominus ex-vented. After a moment he pointed to a bundle of furs in the far corner of the hut. Minimus seemed to hesitate, smile receding from his face as he moved over to the furs and cast them aside. The tiny bot beneath was in a state of deterioration, frame motionless, except for the light of his helmcam weakly blinking.

Minimus stared at him with distress,

"What have you done?" he uttered at Dominus.

"What have I done?" Dominus protested, "The Council supplies me with energon. Barely enough to keep me online. I couldn't afford to keep up with his maintenance."

"So you were just going to let him offline?"

"I made him comfortable."

"In the dirt, covered by stinking furs?"

Swerve ignored the bickering siblings. He moved close to assess the mech's condition.

"He needs a transfusion," he said, "I'll be the donor."

He wasn't a qualified medic. But he had performed enough transfusions during the war. The transfusion cable he pulled from his subspace was a remnant of this. Swerve had never thought to get rid of it. Maybe in the back of his mind he planned on this situation occurring. A bot needing a dosage of his energon. Like the soldiers in his unit. Some of them he had managed to save. Others had been too far gone, their failing fuel pumps rejecting the donation. Swerve hoped this wouldn't be the case with the tiny bot in front of him.

He was relieved when the datastick's systems appeared to weakly reboot. His components groaned from disuse as he attempted to move.

"Lie still," Swerve told him, "I've got you."

His visor was still dark but the light on his helmcam gave Swerve the feeling of being seen. Its owner stilled. Swerve turned to Minimus, hovering at his side.

"He's stabilizing. But he needs proper medical attention. Sooner rather than later."

He carefully scooped Rewind into his arms without detaching the cable. He knew prolonged transfusion bought a risk to his own systems. But at this point it was worth pushing the limit. There was no telling how long the poor bot had been forced to drain his reserves.

Minimus moved to retrieve Swerve's blaster. He had placed it on the ground while initiating the transfusion. He hefted it with remarkable ease,

"Let's go."

It was at that moment Dominus broke his silence. He lurched forward with desperation,

"Minimus wait. Take me with you. Please, I can't stand it here. I'll swear my allegiance. Just, take me with you."

Minimus didn't deign to look at him,

"No, brother, I think this is exactly where you belong."

"But..." Dominus' voice was small, mournful, "We're family. We share a bond."

Minimus did turn then, aiming the blaster. Dominus stumbled back.

"Perhaps," Minimus said, "But that's all I'm willing to share."

He kept his blaster trained on Dominus as they exited the hut, moving past the rancid sacrifices and the organics who resumed their earlier chant on their way to the shuttle. 

"You should stop the transfusion," Minimus advised after locking in their course, "Otherwise you'll end up requiring one yourself."

Swerve reluctantly complied. The transfusion had left him weakened, though he could hold off attending to himself until they reached Cybertron. He had enough strength to cradle the datastick in his arms.

He listened in the background as Minimus initiated a call to Rodimus. The Prime's face suddenly loomed onscreen with a grin.

"Hey Mimi, how'd the family reunion go?"

"He's living with a tribe of organics who call him Dominimus. They think he's a God and leave dead sacrifices to rot outside his hut."

Rodimus erupted into a fit of laughter.

"A hut? I wish I had gone with youse," his gaze roved towards Swerve, "I see youse got the datastick."

"Yes though as you can probably see he's not in the best shape. I need you to have First Aid waiting for us when we dock."

"Sure," Rodimus leered forward with a lewd smile, "He'll take care of him. While I take care of youse."

Minimus chuckled,

"I've barely been gone."

Rodimus' smile widened into a grin,

"What can I say..." he ran his hands seductively down his chestplate, until they dropped off-screen, presumably to fondle his array, "I've _felt_ youse absence."

"Well you'll feel my presence soon enough," came Minimus' reply. It always surprised Swerve how the Senator could say suggestive things in such an amicable way that they barely came across as dirty. "I'll see you soon my Prime."

Rodimus actually gave a groan of pleasure at the last word. Though it could have been the fact he was likely still touching himself.

"I'll be waitin' Senator."

"Why?" Swerve found himself asking as Minimus terminated the call, "Why come all this way to rescue him?"

Minimus stared pensively ahead at the blank screen.

"Because he deserves better than my brother," he answered, "I always thought that."

Swerve didn't quite buy that, despite Minimus' concern over Rewind's condition. The datastick had to present some sort of usefulness in the Senator's optics. Given his ability to record, there were a few possibilities Swerve could think of. Spying. Blackmail. Media manipulation.

But he held back his distaste. The datastick would have offlined if they hadn't come.

His fingers moved to stroke his quarry's hand, locked in tiny fist. He felt it tremble under his touch, attempting to uncurl, all the while the red light of the helmcam steadily blinked.

"Besides..."

Swerve looked up to see the Senator smiling at him,

"I thought you might like a friend."


	56. Rewind (SG)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into the past of SG Rewind, Dominus and Mimi. 
> 
> (I hope you're all liking SG, since it's mostly what I'm writing lately *fingers crossed*)

_Translucentia Heights, Past_

"Have you completely lost your processor?" Dominus was yelling at Minimus, "It's bad enough I have to put with rumors of your debauchery. But to actually have the gall to film yourself. With my dataslug..."

He gesticulated at Rewind who seem to shrink under his vehemence. Minimus took a calm sip of his engex.

"Don't you think you're taking this a tad too seriously?"

"Do you think I enjoy being made a laughingstock?" Dominus shot back, "I do my best to protect the respectability of this House. While you, you seem hell-bent on tearing it down."

"You do know I'm not the only noblemech who frequents brothels," Minimus replied, "Besides, the footage was for private use. I was hardly going to broadcast it to all Cybertron."

"Do you think that comforts me?" Dominus snarled, "This type of footage is easily _leaked_ Minimus, and I doubt your whores know better than to keep their vocalizers shut."

"Actually they are very discreet, I can assure you...."

"Spare me, Minimus," Dominus turned his gaze upwards, "Why did Primus punish me by giving me a sibling like you? Your frame is embarrassing enough. If you really cared, you would refrain from attracting attention. Instead you pull stunts like this. Like it's all one big game."

Minimus' lackadaisical expression hardened.

"It's not a game, Dominus," he objected, "It's my life. I can't help my frame type. I didn't _ask_ to be career exempt. What's wrong with me trying to make the best of it?"

"And humiliating me in the process?"

"You're _choosing_ to be humiliated Dominus," Minimus countered, "You could accept me for who I am."

"As what? An unapologetic deviant? Who films himself interfacing like a whore? Do you think that deserves a pat on the back?"

Minimus shrugged,

"It's less effort than a hug."

Dominus gaped at him a moment, then his fingers shot to his temples,

"Enough, I, there's no talking to you," he murmured angrily.

Minimus didn't answer. He drained the rest of his engex with a somewhat rebellious air. Dominus continued to rub his temples. It seemed to compose him. He lowered his hands and rounded on Rewind.

"Delete the footage," he ordered coldly.

Rewind flinched. He shuffled in an attempt to delay his answer.

"I'm sorry Master," he forced out, "But I can't."

Dominus' optics widened in shock.

"What did you say?" he hissed.

"I can't... Delete footage from my archives," Rewind elaborated softly.

By comparison Dominus' response was thunderous,

"You're disobeying me?"

Rewind's frame quivered. He had never opposed Dominus before. Or had ever wished to, up until this point. But he couldn't comply with this demand. It went against every line of his coding.

"With respect Master," he said, voice shaking in spite of its conviction, "All footage is precious. No matter the subject. Deleting anything is deleting history."

Dominus' anger was momentarily replaced by bafflement.

"Are you saying, my brother's indecency is worth preserving?"

"It was consensual interface, Master. Nothing fake or forced. Some might call it… beautiful."

At least Rewind thought so, watching Minimus with the buymechs. Always bringing them to overload first, as though it gave him as much pleasure bringing about their climax as it did his own. Every so often, he would smile at the camera, at Rewind, and the datastick's spark had trembled, feeling as though he was as much a participant as a voyeur.

"Beautiful?" Dominus' voice bought Rewind back to the present, echoing his term with derision, "My brother fragging prostibots? Beautiful?"

Rewind bowed his helm,

"Yes Master."

Dominus whirled on Minimus,

"You did this. Does it give you pleasure to corrupt my things?"

"Rewind is only speaking from his own spark, Dominus," Minimus' voice was gentle, "Perhaps you should listen to him."

"I'm not interested in the wisdom of a glitched dataslug," Dominus spat, "Rewind, if you don't delete the footage, I'll call in a mnemosurgeon."

Rewind's helm shot upwards fearfully, an image of mnemo-needles running through his processor.

"Dominus, isn't that a tad extreme," Minimus protested.

"You're lucky I don't send you to the Institute for re-programming," Dominus shot back, "I'm sorely tempted."

"Master, please..." Rewind pleaded.

"Delete it," Dominus cut over him, "Or I'll have the mnemosurgeon wipe your databanks back to their factory setting."

Rewind stared at him in horror.

"Please, master, no, I... I..." he babbled, almost too terrified to put words together.

"There's no need to threaten him," Minimus spoke up, "He'll delete the footage, won't you Rewind."

Rewind met his gaze with distress. Minimus stared back solemnly. ‘It’s not worth it’, his optics seem to say. Rewind nodded with a small sob. He couldn't risk losing his entire archive. At the same time the idea of purging anything from his memory banks left him inconsolable.

"Good," Dominus savored his acquiesce before turning to Minimus, expression hardening, "As for you. I'm sending you to Celsus in Nyon."

"Nyon?" Minimus protested, "You can’t..."

"It's not a debate, Minimus. I'm fed up dealing with you. At least in Nyon you’ll be out of my..."

Rewind stopped paying attention. He was too busy mourning the images flashing in front of his optics as they disappeared into oblivion.


	57. Sub IV (SG)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I was in the mood for subMegs smut... Most specifically Megs being stuffed with a bunch of Mimi's false spikes. Yup I am perv.

"On your hands and knees," Minimus says.

Megatron complies without much of his former hesitation. He's had several encounters with Minimus since the one in his office. There's only anticipation rushing through his frame as he positions himself on the floor in front of Minimus. The minibot makes use of his decreased height to stroke the side of his helm. Then he points across the room,

"See that box over there?"

Megatron nods. He's familiar with this particular box. Tetrahexian. Hand-crafted. It holds Minimus' interface toys. Some of them at least.

"I want you to crawl over and pick a toy," Minimus instructs, "Then I want you to bring it back to me."

It's a new order, one that takes Megatron by surprise. But he nods, optics on the box and begins to crawl. It's awkward, moving on all fours and he fills a sting of embarrassment. But at the same time his valve slickens with arousal, the subservience of it, the fact he knows Minimus is watching, taking pleasure in his obedience. He can almost feel his optics on his aft.

He reaches the box, lid already open, foresight on Minimus' part. He's the only one who knows the code to unlock it. The same with the collar he sometimes makes Megatron wear. Though not this cycle.

Megatron stares at the assortment of false spikes nestled together in the plush lining. A blush rises to his faceplates. He's never seen the collection up close. Minimus has always made the selection in the past. Before meeting him, Megatron never laid optics on a false spike, let alone used one. The choice is daunting, there's a range of sizes and colors.

"Choose wisely," Minimus calls to him. Megatron isn’t quite sure how to interpret the advice. In the end he narrows the decision by selecting a medium size spike, green with ribbing. Minimus has used it on him before.

He finds himself turning and showing it to Minimus for approval. He seems a little amused, maybe at Megatron's lack of daring. But he nods,

"It will do for a start," he says, "Put it your mouth and crawl back over."

Megatron flushes. In his mouth. He supposes it’s the easier way since he's expected to crawl. His mouth closes around the middle of the spike and he crawls back to Minimus, feeling like a pet turbofox retrieving a ball. Perhaps that's the idea. A different type of submission roleplay.

Minimus smiles as he approaches in his awkward crawling gait, mouth stretched around the spike, grateful he didn't choose something larger. There's something about the way Minimus watches him, so controlled and calm and approving, something that spirals him into copious levels of arousal without even being touched.

"Good mech," he says when Megatron reaches him, spike still clutched in his mouth. The praise rolls over his frame almost like physical touch. Megatron arches slightly, feeling the build-up of his own wetness, trapped beneath his closed panel. He allows Minimus to take the spike from his mouth, middle coated in his oral fluid, "Turn around."

Megatron obeys eagerly, feeling the reward of a small graceful hand skirting the outline of his aft.

"Open," Minimus says from behind him.

Megatron complies, exposing himself to Minimus' optics.

"You look good enough to taste," Minimus croons and Megatron wriggles, almost in invitation.

But instead of a tongue, he feels the head of the spike, just as welcome, at his slickened folds. Minimus wedges it in slowly, not stopping until Megatron can feel almost the entire length inside his valve, ribbing catching pleasurably over his nodes.

"Don’t want it to fall out," Minimus says, confusing Megatron a moment before he offers more instruction, "Go back and choose another toy."

Megatron looks towards the box. Another? Minimus expects him to crawl over with a spike lodged in his valve. He leans forward experimentally, feeling the spike shift ever so slightly, calipers clenching almost instinctively to hold it place. But there's little fear of it coming unstuck, it’s lodged too deep.

Megatron resumes crawling, at a slower and even more awkward pace than before, spike still gently shifting, nodes flaring at each lean of pressure. It’s a pleasurable humiliation, he feels so naked, exposed, imagining the sight of the spike's base lodged in his dripping, clenching valve.

He reaches the box, strains forward, still acutely feeling the lodgement of the spike as he searches for another. He chooses a slightly smaller model, vibrant purple. It feels ridiculous, putting such a shockingly bright spike in his mouth. But its smaller size isn’t so taxing on his jaw (unlike its bigger green counterpart in his valve) as he crawls obediently back to Minimus, letting him take it from his mouth, wondering for a brief moment where...

"Turn around."

Megatron complies. He feels small nimble fingers teasing around his valve rim before thrusting in gently in around the base of the spike. They flex, as though Minimus is trying to stretch his valve. Its then that Megatron begins to understand, as the fingers withdraw and the tip of the second spike is slowly eased inside his valve alongside the first. He shifts on the spot, trying to adjust to the additional girth, calipers straining around both.

Minimus is silent as he watches, waiting until Megatron grows still.

"Go choose another."

Megatron barely stops himself from glancing backwards in disbelief. But that isn’t the way this works. He doesn’t argue. If he wants to bow out of the session, he uses the safe word. But he's stubborn. He's taken two spikes, he can take another, if that’s what’s expected of him. Despite the unfamiliarity of being doubly penetrated, he can't say there's no pleasure in their combined girth, though it makes crawling to the box even more of a struggle.

But he manages, fetching another spike, blue in colour, slowly bringing it back to Minimus. Then he turns, feeling fingers once again probe and prep him before the third spike joins the others. Megatron arches against the unbelievable stretch, unable to supress a whimper.

"Good mech," Minimus murmurs, "You're doing so well."

Megatron feels a finger graze his anterior node and he buckles at the spike of pleasure, calipers fluttering wildly around the three lodged spikes. A trickle of lubricant squeezes out from around them and runs down Megatron's thigh. Fingers kneed around his stretched rim, massaging.

"I think there's room for one more," Minimus says, "Don't you?"

Megatron isn't even sure he can properly move in his current position. But he attempts it, surprised to find he can, though barely, he's not crawling as much as dragging himself, feeling the strain of the multiple spikes with each flex of movement.

After what feels like an eternity, he reaches the box, weakly reaching for one of the smallest spikes he can manage. He shows it hopefully to Minimus.

"Perfect," he says, "I use that one myself."

Megatron groans, half in relief, half in titillation, the imagery of Minimus riding the spike running through his processor as he balances it between his dentae and undertakes the agonizing crawl back to the minibot.

Excess oral fluid trickles from the side of his mouth around the tiny spike, making a mess on his chin. He's a mess in general at the moment, disheveled, running hot and leaking. But there's only blatant approval in Minimus' optics as he takes the tiny spike from Megatron's mouth.

Megatron swivels around with some effort, presenting his stretched, slickened valve to Minimus' ministrations before the spike is eased in with the rest, filling him fit to bursting despite its humble size.

"I'm impressed. You almost beat Rodimus' record and he's had a fair bit of practice compared to you."

Megatron responds with a small huff of pride. The huff becomes a howl as Minimus twists the base of the green spike, rippling the others alongside it, stimulating Megatron's nodes in one deft action.

"I think you deserve an overload," Minimus tells him, "Being so obedient."

He stops twisting the spike, fingers slipping once more to his node. Megatron almost sobs in relief, quickly abandoning all remaining sense of decorum as Minimus sends him skyrocketing into overload, molten charge ripping through his stretched, spasming valve. His knees give out and finds himself slumped forward, aft in the air, calipers weakly clenching around the four spikes. Minimus withdraws a sticky hand from underneath him, carefully easing out the spikes one by one, leaving Megatron with a niggling feeling of emptiness. Still he sighs in gratitude, now able to move more freely despite his exhaustion, rolling on his back, thighs apart, valve dripping, to meet Minimus' cheerful gaze.

"Thank you," he forces out weakly.

Minimus smiles down at him,

"You are very welcome."


	58. Magnus Star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Needed some Ten stuff. Gosh I love him so much.

Rodimus pointed at Whirl's chestplate,

"What is that?"

"Uh my chestplate," the rotary quipped snidely, "Or do you mean my gun tits?"

Rodimus cringed at the term. Primus, Whirl was a crude slagger. Sure it's what mecha called them behind Whirl's back. But for the rotary to actually say it with pride... 

Wait, getting off topic.

"No," he stabbed the golden medal on his chestplate, "That. What is that?"

Whirl's optic narrowed in Whirl's version of a smug smile. 

"Oh you mean the gold star with Magnus' face on it," he crooned, "Think it's pretty self-explanatory don't you think."

Rodimus stared at the golden impression of Magnus' face. It was quite a good rendering, perfectly detailed, including his frown. Still he couldn't quite get his processor around the concept. Magnus had never been fully supportive of Rodimus' Stars as a reward system, calling his criteria "unstructured". For him to be suddenly manufacturing his own Stars...

"Why would he be giving out Stars?" Rodimus pondered aloud.

"Reckon it's a jail-free card myself," Whirl said, "Like you're in the lawmech's good books."

Rodimus scoffed,

"Whirl, if there was any mech Mags wouldn't give special dispensation to, it's you."

"No slag," Whirl quipped back, "But I stole this Star from Grotusque."

"Who?" Rodimus said. He didn't even know there was a Grotusque on the ship and yet the weirdly named mech had gotten a Magnus Star.

"Not just him that got one either. Rung, Skids, Nautica and a bunch of other people got 'em too," Whirl informed him with obvious glee, "In fact if you go to Swerve's right now, you'll witness a sea of tiny Magnus frown-y faces."

Rodimus couldn't quite hold back his frown. Magnus had given them to the whole crew excluding him. Had he done something to really frag him off lately? His report was overdue, again, but that always happened. Why was Magnus purposely singling him out?"

He was so lost in thought he didn't deflect Whirl's claw as it looped around his shoulder,

"Aww poor sad Rodders," he crooned, "You want me to pity frag you?"

"Oh frag _off_ ," Rodimus snarled, pushing him away, "Mags is probably leaving me until last. I'm the Captain after all. And we have a meeting right now. I was on the way there until you got in my way."

"Whatever you wanna tell yourself," Whirl jiggled the medal tauntingly with his claw, "Look tiny lawmech is frowning at you. Grrrr. You are unworthy."

"Whirl," Rodimus hissed through his dentae, "I will throw you in the..."

Whirl tilted the medal so it shot light into Rodimus' optic, blinding him. 

"Can't. Magnus Immunity."

He pranced off, as much as mech with his awkward pedes could prance, leaving Rodimus stewing in his own misery. He stormed to the conference room. 

"Mags," he called on entry, "I have a bone to pick with..."

His optics caught sight of Megatron, namely the gleaming medal on his chestplate. 

"What the hell Magnus?" he wailed, "He gets one too."

Magnus looked distinctly uncomfortable. 

"I see you've noticed the medals."

"Uh yes," Rodimus retorted, "They are kinda everywhere by all accounts. All except here."

He jerked a thumb at his own chestplate,

"So what gives?"

Magnus sighed,

"Ten made them," he explained, "I think he saw the Rodimus Star you gave me and was... inspired."

Rodimus closed his gaping mouth,

"Ten did?" he said, "But then, why do they have your face on them?'

"I tried to inquire but the only answer I received was, unsurprising, Ten. I suppose he does craft a lot of things in my likeness."

"He admires you," Megatron said, "It's not all that surprising that you're his model."

Magnus flushed by way of answer. Megatron touched his Magnus Star, 

"It is a remarkable likeness," he commented. 

Rodimus scowled at him.

"I don't see you wearing the Rodimus Star _I_ gave you."

"Because you gave it to me as a joke," Megatron deadpanned, "This was a gift."

"That you deserve because?" Rodimus drawled, "Ten likes me second best next to Magnus. Why would he make one for you over me?" 

"Maybe your popularity with him is delusional," Megatron leaned back in his chair smugly, "He made one for Ravage too."

"Are you fragging kidding me?" Rodimus cried, "I'm ranked below Ravage?"

He slumped into the nearest chair.

"This is what I attempted to tell Ten," Magnus said mournfully, "That people might sully his intentions. But he was so happy making them. He likes making presents. I'm glad he's not here to see you react. He would be so upset, especially when he _did_ make you a Star."

Rodimus straightened from his slump.

"He did make me one?" 

"Yes," Magnus reiterated with audible reproach, "He wanted to give it to you himself but he had troubling finding you. I tried comm-ing you."

Comms Rodimus had ignored, thinking Magnus wanted to nag him about the report. He slumped again, this time in guilt. 

"Slag," he muttered, mulling things over a moment before rising, "If you see Ten tell him to meet me at Swerve's." 

"What about the meeting?" Magnus said as Rodimus headed for the door.

"Urgent Captain business. Tell Ten, Swerve's."

*

Whirl had been right about the medals. Everywhere Rodimus turned at Swerve's he caught the glimmer of multiple Magnus Stars. Rodimus couldn't help a slight wave of disappointment that nobody really wore his Stars in public. But he pushed it aside. That wasn't why he was here. He made his way to Ten in the crowd, where he was standing with Minimus.  

"Heya Ten."

"Ten," the Legislator greeted him happily and outstretched a closed hand.

Rodimus caught it before it uncurled. 

"Me first," he said before addressing the crowd, "Okay everyone shut up. I wanna give a speech."

There were a few mumbles of discontent. Rodimus ignored them. He was Captain and as the Captain, he could give an impromptu speech whenever he damned well pleased.

"It's come to my attention that Ten has never been officially welcomed aboard the ship. I wanna rectify that. Because we all like Ten and the ship would be a less awesome place without him."

This time there were murmurs of agreement. The Legislator appeared to blush.

"Ten," he said bashfully.

Rodimus subspaced a Rodimus Star and held it out to him,

"Here Ten. You deserve this. For being the best Ten on the ship."

Ten studied it with delight before accepting it,

"Ten," he babbled ecstatically, "Ten."

He showed it to Minimus who gave one of his rare almost smiles,

"Congratulations Ten."

There was a round of applause from the crew. Ten fixed the Rodimus Star proudly to his chest.

"Ten," he uncurled his closed fist to reveal a Magnus Star, "Ten."

Rodimus feigned surprise,

"For me?" he said, "Thanks buddy."

He attached it to his chestplate,

"It looks just like Mags."

"Ten," Ten beamed with pleasure, "Ten."


	59. Table (SG)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because Insec mentioned subMegs as a table and I thought "AYFYJAUYJFAYVYSJ YES!!!!!!" *weeps from perverse joy* 
> 
> Love you, Insec <3

"New table Minimus?"

Megatron hears Minimus' cousin rather than sees him. He's faced away from the door as the pair enter. It's the rear of him that's positioned in front of them, valve exposed. Nervousness ripples through his frame. He's not used to this level of vulnerability around a relative stranger. He's met the Senator of Nyon a few times, in a professional capacity. But never like this. He can feel their optics on him and his instinct is to wriggle. He fights it. He has to maintain his role. Tables don't move.

The restraints on his arms and legs help, keep him him locked in place on his elbows and knees. There's a circular plate of Vosian crystal balanced across his lower backstrut. On top of it, a bottle of vintage engex and two empty glasses. Megatron knows he probably looks ridiculous. When Minimus first bought up the idea, it sounded ridiculous. And intimidating, given the addition of a guest. But Minimus assured him his cousin was discreet. He wouldn't cross any lines either. He wouldn't paw at him like Rodimus would, especially with Megatron's valve on display.

Megatron had allowed himself to be convinced. After multiple encounters, he's learnt to trust Minimus, if only in the confines of their arrangement. Outside of their sexual relationship, he's still wary. But here, now, he trusts him. Despite nerves and the ridiculousness of the position, he feels safe. There's always the safe word if he wants out, if the restraints become too painful. But for now, he embodies his role as best he can, as he hears their approach. 

"Yes," Minimus is answering Celsus brightly, "Isn't it nice?"

Megatron feels his hand skirting over his aft. He bites back a moan. It's not just the touch. It's the approval in his voice, the feeling of being studied. His valve clenches in arousal, the only movement he can get away with. For the most part, he remains still, as Celsus completes a circuit around him.

"Sturdy construction," he says approvingly, "Where was it built? Kaon?"

"Tarn," Megatron can hear the smile in Minimus' voice.

His hand is still stroking his aft. Megatron wishes it would drop lower, to his valve. He's wet, he can feel it. The idea of Minimus fingering him at this point just increases him arousal. But that's not the way this roleplay works. Megatron isn't a mech pretending to be a table. He is a table. Any sexual contact at this point would disrupt the fantasy. In a way Megatron is equally frustrated yet grateful. If Minimus did touch his valve, he probably wouldn't be able to hold back his moans.

"A lot of people always praise Vos for craftmechship," Minimus is saying, "But I think Tarn is severely underrated. My table has so much character."

Megatron feels a swell of pride in his spark. Minimus sounds so genuine. He's pleased. Megatron is pleasing him.

"I agree," Celsus' voice betrays a touch of amusement, "You certainly have an optic for quality cousin."

"You're too kind," Minimus replies, "Would you care for some high grade?"

Celsus chuckles,

"Would I ever say no? Especially to an expensive vintage."

Minimus' hand leaves Megatron's aft to pour the drinks. The conversation remains on the subject of engex for a while, how Tetrahexian vintage is too bitter for Minimus' tastes, how he prefers Rivets Field for it's delicacy, whereas Celsus prefers stronger flavor, revealing he's recently purchased a rare Protihex vintage. It's idle, pleasant chatter, the kind mecha would engage in during a normal round of drinks. As if their table was not actually a mech warped into that position. The sensation is surreal, as though Megatron is truly inanimate, that he is succeeding in his task. He can't help his valve growing increasing wet in response, knowing that Minimus is likely to reward him. 

Though the position is not without it's difficulties. His frame grows increasing stiff locked in the same position. Discomfort that might evolve into pain after an extended period. But it's tolerable for now so Megatron persists, instead of opting for the safe word. Still, he's glad when, after an hour's conversation, Celsus announces his intentions to depart.

"We should do this again," he says, "I've had a lovely time. Please pass on my regards to his Primeship."

Megatron notes the slight irreverence in his tone. Usually senators only speak about Rodimus in fawning terms, especially around Minimus. He's a little intrigued, though he's happier to have Celsus leave. 

"Congratulations on the table, by the way," are his last words before Minimus closes the door behind him.

But even though they're alone, Megatron doesn't break character. Not until Minimus shifts back over to him and addresses him,

"How are you feeling?" 

There's something about that initial instinct of concern that Megatron takes comfort in.

"A little stiff," he answers, "Nothing dire."

"Good," Minimus says, "Still I think it's time we got you out of the restraints."

Megatron doesn't object. He waits while Minimus clears the engex and glasses off the crystal plate before lifting it from Megatron's backstrut. The plate is almost half his size yet Minimus doesn't struggle in the slightest. He discards it gently on the floor before returning to Megatron, unlocking the restraints. Megatron rolls onto his back, flexing his limbs, trying to coax away the soreness in his joints.

"Here," Minimus wedges himself between his thighs, hands falling on one knee strut, massaging the grooves. 

Megatron moans with relief. There's power in Minimus' tiny fingers, somehow digging into the all the right spots to bring on a wave of euphoria.

"You did so splendidly," Minimus says as he shifts his attention to Megatron's other knee, "I could tell Celsus was impressed. I attempted the same with Rodimus once but he spoilt it by demanding a spike halfway through. He didn't quite grasp the concept of being inanimate."

The minibot seems amused by the memory.

"But you," he praises, "You were the perfect table."

Megatron's spark once again swells with pride. Minimus sinks to his knees between the walls of Megatron's thighs.

"So wet too," he murmurs, taking in the sight of Megatron's leaking valve, "It was very hard not to touch you."

His hands run up the expanse of Megatron's inner thighs. Teasingly. Megatron feels a new wave of lubricant pooling in his valve to the join the rest. 

"Or taste you," Minimus goes on, laving his tongue where his hand had previously trailed.

A whimper escapes Megatron's vocalizer. It takes all his willpower not to beg. Minimus nuzzles against his thigh, smiling. 

"Overload for me," he murmurs before shifting down lower, to Megatron's swollen node. His mouth locks around it with precise, exquisite suction and Megatron wails with gratitude.


	60. Glorious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short stupid thing with the original IDW Magnus and his brother Delta. Because apparently 'glorious' was Delta's catchphrase.

“Blessed Spark Day brother,” Ultra Magnus offers Delta a slim gift wrapped package.

“You remembered?” Delta booms excitedly, “How glorious. What is it?”

Magnus regards him with his usual seriousness,

“You should unwrap it.”

Delta happily obliges, though his cheer lessens slightly at the contents.

“A datapad? Oh that's... Is it another edition of the Law Encyclopedia?"

“Thesaurus,” Ultra answers, “I thought it might be useful.”

Delta stares at him a moment before his mouth splits open in a grin,

“Glorious,” he laughs over the sound of his brother sighing.


	61. Hats (SG)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Insec, for our headcanon that SG Roddy likes hats and is actually good at diplomacy (in relation to organics) <3

"You seem surprised..."

Minimus' voice drew Megatron's attention away from Rodimus and the Furlosian ambassador. The Senator was smiling.

"Did you think negotiation wasn't our Prime's forte?"

"I believed it was yours," Megatron said by way of answer.

The Senator continued to smile,

"When it comes to mecha, yes," he said, "With organics, I struggle to build the rapport Rodimus does. It helps that he takes an interest in their customs."

Megatron glanced back to Rodimus, in the middle of exchanging complicated hand gestures with Furlosian. The Prime was grinning, while the Furlosian was uttering a noise that sounded like amusement ('chee hee hee'). Both were wearing a strange cap of organic material on their heads, Rodimus having been presented with one on the ambassador's arrival. He'd accepted it with an odd sort of glee and plonked it over his helm.

"Is that a standard for these negotiations?" Megatron asked, "Exchanging gifts."

"It is in regards to helmwear specifically," Minimus answered, "Our Prime is a collector of hats."

"Hats?" Megatron echoed.

"He thinks they're amusing," Minimus said with an indulgent shake of his helm, "I can't really say the same, though he pulls them off better than me."

"Hats?" Megatron found himself saying again.

"You should ask to see his collection sometime. It's grown quite... extensive."

Megatron's mouth set into a deep frown,

"Let me get this straight. The basis of Rodimus' diplomatic endeavors is to acquire hats?" __  
  
"There's a little more to it than that," Minimus said, "But hats are definitely in the terms of agreement."

"Doesn't that bother you?" Megatron ex-vented, "Bartering for hats? He's making us look like laughingstocks."

The smile receded from Minimus' face. In fact he looked downright stern, and Megatron felt a slight rush of arousal despite himself.  
  
"He's preserving the peace," the Senator said, "Strengthening relations with organic species. Surely you can't question his methods despite his insistence on being given hats."

Megatron had to admit he had a point. In this instance Rodimus' charm was a positive, as was his lack of shame when it came to wearing the Furlosian's gift.

"Besides," Minimus went on, tone lightening, "Everyone has a right to their hobbies. Not everyone wants to collect interface toys."

Megatron flushed at this. He did have intimate knowledge of the aforementioned collection. He tried to focus on Rodimus and the Furlosian,

"What are they saying?" he asked, watching their hand gestures. They seemed different to Cybertronian chirolinguistics. 

Minimus chuckled,

"Something suggestive I'd imagine. Hats aren't the only interest Rodimus has in other species."

"Ah, now that makes more sense," Megatron said dryly, to which Minimus only smiled.


	62. Matchmaker (SG)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More SG. With Rewind and Swerve :)

Rewind hadn't shown much reluctance in entering Minimus' employ as soon as he recovered from his injuries. Granted Minimus hadn't expected any. Rewind had always shown a great deal of complacency when it came to serving who he saw as his master. He had only spoken up against Dominus one time, only to back down when Minimus' brother uttered the right kind of threat. Minimus had assured Rewind that he was his employer, not owner. Rewind accepted this outwardly, with gratitude, though Minimus suspected he was smart enough to know there was a tentative distance between the two, especially should he fail to meet Minimus' expectations.

Still, Rewind was the kind of 'bot who delivered good work. He followed Rodimus during senate sessions and public appearances, filming the Prime in the best angles, editing the footage before it was broadcast across Cybertron. Most recently, he had filmed the meeting between Rodimus and the Furlosian ambassador, presenting the final cut to Minimus in his office for final approval.

"I cut out anything compromising like you asked," he said in his usual soft voice.

Minimus nodded, optics on the flawlessly edited footage of Rodimus and the ambassador. Rewind had managed to cut out the more blatant moments of Rodimus flirting.

"Excellent job," he said, the datastick relaxing in his periphery.

"Thank you Sir," he murmured.

Minimus was well aware Dominus had never thanked or complimented Rewind during the entirety of the latter's service to him. His processor strayed to his brother, of him sitting in his hut, covered in gunk. A smile touched his lips. He didn't regret leaving him to his fate, not one bit.

Meanwhile the footage continued to play. Minimus was not so consumed with thoughts of his brother that he missed the camera zooming on something behind Rodimus for a split second. Someone, to be more exact. A certain bodyguard watching in the background.

"Well, well, well," he said, "I didn't realize I asked for Swerve to be included in the footage."

Rewind visibly flinched,

"I'm sorry!" he blurted, "I was sure I cut that part. It was an accident, zooming in on him, I didn't mean..."

"Rewind," Minimus cut over him, "I'm not upset with you."

Rewind looked dubious. It would have been grounds for Dominus to punish him. But Minimus wasn't his brother.

"It's a small mistake," he went on, "One that can easily be fixed. Though to be honest, right now I'm more interested in the fact _you're_ interested."

"In-interested?" Rewind echoed with a slight stammer.

"In Swerve," Minimus smiled, "That's why you zoomed in on him."

Rewind suddenly looked more embarrassed than fearful.

"Well, he... He saved me, on that planet," he said finally, "He didn't even know me."

"He's not called the Heroic Sniper for nothing," Minimus said, "Have you talked to him?"

Rewind scuffed his pede on the polished floor,

"Yes, just then, I said 'hello, I have an appointment with the Senator'."

Minimus burst out laughing,

"Oh dear, you really need lessons in flirting."

Rewind's tiny shoulders hunched self-consciously,

"I've never really... flirted before."

"Don't worry," Minimus said, "It's an acquired skill. One that Swerve probably wouldn't appreciate anyway. He's notorious for turning down advances. Even mine."

"Oh," Rewind said in a small voice.

"That doesn't mean you wouldn't be an exception," Minimus reassured him, "In fact I'd venture to say the interest is returned."

He had noticed Swerve tended to glance at Rewind whenever they happened to be in the same room together. And remembering the way Swerve had cradled the datastick on the way back to Cybertron, Minimus doubted the looks lacked any feeling in them.

"Leave it to me," he told Rewind, who responded with a look of confusion, "In the meantime fix that footage."

*

Minimus adopted a stern expression as Swerve responded to his comm. to enter his office.

"Swerve I have a problem."

"Sir?" Swerve said, with his usual gruff politeness.

"Rewind keeps zooming in on you when he's filming," Minimus said, "You need to take him on a date."

Swerve's reaction was priceless. 

"I... Um... What?"

Minimus took a mental snapshot of his expression. It was the first time he had seen Swerve flailing. It was difficult to hold back a smile.

"Take him on a date," he reiterated, "I know you have aversion to public places so show him your apartment. But don't under any circumstances mix him a drink. He's only just recovered from his previous injuries."

He had visited Swerve's apartment once, out of interest. The minibot, though uncomfortable with having Minimus there, had offered him a drink. While Swerve had received many expensive vintages from admirers, he was no connoisseur, mixing them together to create a cocktail lethal to anyone's tanks but Swerve's own. Minimus was fortunate to have only taken a small experimental sip. Even that had left him coughing for a joor.

Swerve didn't react to his dig at his bartending ability. He still seemed to be struggling with the original request.

"Is... is this an order?" he said finally.

"If you're going to be difficult yes," Minimus gave a cheerful flick of his servo, "Now off you go, the hallway isn't going to guard itself."

Swerve's mouth opened and closed. Then he managed to pull his expression back into it's usual solemn mask.

"Yes sir," he said, not quite able to keep the sigh out of his voice.

Minimus waited for him to turn his back before breaking into a grin.


	63. Ravage (SG)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by all my talks with Insec about SG Ravage and Mimi :3
> 
> My version of SG Ravage differs from the canon LOLcat. In my SG Ravage's spark was placed into a minibot's frame, not a beastframe. He's a political activist who is a little too zealous to the point he rushes to assumptions and isn't stealthy or discreet in the slightest. In short, he makes a terrible spy.

Ravage tried not to show any anxiety. This was the second time he'd stood outside Senator Ambus' office. The first time, without an appointment, demanding an audience with the Senator on minibot rights. The rights of his workers in particular, like Rewind. A 'bot Ravage had met during an official function, who showed the usual nervousness his oppressed brothers had when Ravage questioned him about his working conditions, insisting a little too vehemently that he was treated 'just fine, thank you' in a stuttering voice. After that Ravage was resolved to intercede on his behalf, turning up at Ambus' office with the intention of ambushing him.

Of course he'd run into the obstacle of his bodyguard. A notorious killer of Decepticons, though given his status as a minibot, Ravage presumed he had been ordered to do so against his will. So Ravage tried not to condemn him, even as he stood in his path, seeming to grow more uncomfortable when Ravage introduced himself and his cause, extending the same offer to fight for his welfare as he did Rewind. Swerve had declined politely, ending the exchange with what Ravage saw as deliberate swiftness by comm-ing his employer.

It was fast becoming obvious to him that minibots under the Autobot faction, particularly in the Senator's employ, were too browbeaten to seek help. Thus by the time Swerve stepped aside to let him in to see the Senator, Ravage had grown too incensed to even introduce himself properly to the hypocritical minibot seated behind his expensive desk. Instead he launched into an impassioned tirade, accusing the Senator of exploiting workers like Rewind, of not extending them the rights and privileges they so deserved.

All the while the Senator sat, watching with a subdued look of curiosity on his face. It only provoked Ravage further. He wanted fear in his optics at Ravage calling him to account. Not mild intrigue, not... was that a flicker of amusement? How dare he!

"You think this is comical?" Ravage seethed, or rather wheezed. He hadn't really taken any pause to catch his vents.

The Senator lifted his hands from his desk and raised them in a disarming gesture. Even that seemed faintly mocking, at least to Ravage's suspicious optics.

"No, no, not at all," he smiled, "Your honesty and ambition is very admirable. Though your facts are a little inaccurate. I do pay Rewind on the same scale as I do my other employees, which I might add, is considerably higher than the planetary average. And he does receive benefits such a holiday and sick pay."

Ravage felt his frame physically deflate. Of all the responses Ambus could have given, he hadn't prepared himself for this one. He stood there in embarassed silence, grasping for a response that wouldn't embarrass him even further. Ambus took the opportunity to continue,

"I hope that puts your processor at ease..." he paused, smile faltering slightly, "Pardon me, I don't know your designation..."

Offence quickly superseded Ravage's humiliation. He had campaigned so hard for the rights of his brothers, had made such a task his life's ambition, and this Senator professed not to _know_ him.

"It's Ravage," he growled, "Founder and chairmech of M.E.L."

The introduction only drew a blank look from the Senator.

"Mel?"

"Minibot Equality League," Ravage elaborated with an affronted glare, "The _only_ organisation promoting the rights of the minibot class. I'm surprised you haven't heard of us. Given you're supposed _commitment_ to the rights of your workers."

The Senator's expression hardened ever so slighty,

"Are you insinuating that I'm being untruthful?"

"Perhaps," Ravage said boldly, determined not to be cowered by the Senator or the fact it was rumored he was the real power behind the Prime, "If you would be willing to show me documents supporting your claims."

The Senator stared him down a moment before he inexplicably laughed.

"You are feisty aren't you."

Ravage's plating bristled,

"Don't insult me."

"Oh it wasn't an insult," the Senator purred, "I'll gladly have my office forward any documentation for your _approval._ I certainly wouldn't wish to make an enemy of the M.E.L."

There was humor in the last sentence. If there was one thing Ravage couldn't stand beyond class inequality, it was not being taken seriously. Especially by an uppity senator, who had never been made to suffer for his frame type by having the good fortune of belonging to the noble class.

Still, until he had his servos on that documentation, he had little evidence to condemn the Senator over his social media feed. Testimony from Rewind seemed out of the question.

"I would be much obliged for your co-operation," he forced out.

"Indeed," the Senator smiled, "Was there anything else?"

Ravage hesitated in answering in the negative. The situation felt too much like dismissal. Instead Ravage groped for more fuel to extend the discussion, in his favor. Given the Senator's reputation, there was only one line of questioning he could go with.

"M.E.L. extends aid to all disenfranchised 'bots, regardless of class. All mecha should have the opportunity for legitimate employment..."

"I agree whole-heartedly," Ambus said.

"Not coerced into more exploitative practices as a means to survive," Ravage continued, "We feel those who support prostitution and the exploitation of sex workers should face heavier penalties. Would you agree, senator?"

To Ravage's dismay, Ambus didn't look ruffled in the slightest.

"Certainly there are instances where buymecha are exploited," he said, "And in these instances, I do believe intervention is necessary and penalties should be applied to those responsible. But not all buymecha are coerced into this line of employment. Do you think their rights should be violated by shutting down their industry?"

Rewind wasn't quite prepared to have the question deflected back at him.

"I... No... But I do think these _consenting_ mecha, if that's what they truly are, should be made aware that there are other options open to them. Options that don't involve selling their bodies."

"Trust me they are aware," Ambus replied, "I don't know how many buymecha your organisation comes into contact with. But the buymecha I've encountered prefer their current employment, daresay enjoy it, to other avenues."

"How can you say their "enjoyment" wasn't forced?" Ravage argued.

"Never with me," Ambus said, "I can assure you."

His voice was low, husky with conviction. Ravage felt an unwelcome tingle up his backstrut. Flashes of the pornvids Soundwave had uncovered, of the senator with a number of buymecha played in his processor. None of them mini's, Ravage had noted with derision at the time. But he couldn't deny the reactions of the buymecha to Ambus' ministrations seemed genuine. Genuine enough for Ravage to have been aroused from his viewing. A fact he hated to relive here and now, in the Senator's office, during a serious discussion.

"One exception does not set the standard," he stuttered.

Ambus smiled. A similar smile to the ones he had thrown to the camera every so often. In a way he was more performer than any buymecha. Ravage hated to admit it was effective, even more so in person, as Ambus softly countered,

"True, though it should not be discounted."

The atmosphere in the room suddenly seemed very intimate. Ravage's spark pulsed more erratically in it's housing. He suddenly lost focus on hammering his message home, then marching out, helm held high. He was wondering more if Ambus was about to rise from his chair and close the gap between them. If Ambus planned to slip his hand between his legs...

He fairly squeaked when Ambus made the movement of leaning forward, palms falling on his desk.

"Well this has been an insightful discussion," he said, still smiling, "Though you must excuse me, I have business to attend to. If you would leave your details with Swerve, I can have the requested documents forwarded to you."

Ravage tried not to stagger too much in his abject humiliation. The foolishness of assuming the Senator would seduce him. He was a mini after all. And Ambus obviously had a fetish for big 'bots.

Hypocrite, he thought, embarrassment giving way to a feeling of superiority and vindictiveness. A feeling that lasted his journey back to Megatron's apartment, where he was staying for the duration of his visit to Iacon. Without consulting his leader and now senatorial representative, he posted a scathing update on his feed labeling Ambus a 'big 'bot chaser'.

Megatron wasn't too pleased when he found out, giving Ravage a long-suffering look.

"Why are you trying to stir up trouble with Ambus?"

Ravage gave an unapologetic shrug,

"Because I can't stand hypocrisy. Especially from a mini with such a high social standing. He claims he's helping our cause but he won't lower himself to fragging us."

Megatron looked distinctly uncomfortable,

"Ravage, you know I'll always protect you. But I wish you would consider the repercussions of your actions."

"Pfft," Ravage answered with bravado, "If he smelts me, he's only gonna make me a matyr."

To which Megatron only ex-vented.

But reaction from Ambus failed to come. At least in the short term. Documents regarding Rewind's contract were sent from his office, as though Ambus was unaware of Ravage's slight against him. Of course Ravage knew better than to think Ambus didn't have spies trolling social media. He surely knew and Ravage could only draw two conclusions. One, Ambus decided Ravage wasn't worth his time to pay it much mind, the idea of which infuriated the minibot.

Two, Ambus was buying his time devising a form of punishment, a thought that made Ravage wary, though he was under Megatron's protection. Ambus wouldn't do anything to jeopardize the peace between the two factions. That left Ravage relatively in the clear. Still, when invitation came from Ambus on the pretense of following up on the documents he had supplied, Ravage couldn't help feeling a little nervous.

Still he did his best to hold his helm high as he waited for Swerve informed Ambus of his arrival. Ambus was cheerful as he'd been in their first encounter but Ravage was determined not to be lulled into a sense of false security. He answered Ambus' queries with rushed bluntness. Yes, he had received Rewind's contract. Yes, it did appear legitimate. Yes, he was satisfied that Rewind was being fairly treated.

"Excellent," Ambus cooed, elegant fingers tented together, "I'm glad my work practices are up to your code."

Ravage ignored the slight teasing in his voice.

"Is - is that all?" he said.

"One more thing," Ambus said, smiling, "If you'll allow me to impart some advice."

This time he did rise from his chair.

"Assumptions are dangerous things, Ravage," he said, "Assumptions can have disastrous consequences."

Ravage tensed. Ambus halted his approach towards him, his smile taking on a certain melancholy.

"But they can also be hurtful. Take me for example, it would natural for you to assume that I've led a charmed life. And in many ways you would be right. But I've also faced discrimination for size. Even from my own brother. I was a perversion to him."

Ravage was taken aback. 

"I... I didn't know," he found himself saying, fear of reprisal giving way to sympathy.

Ravage had faced his fair share of discrimination in his life, though never from the mecha he called family.

Ambus continued to stare at him with that sad twist of his lips.

"It's not something I usually divulge. I don't like to portray myself as a victim, because I'm not. I'm also not someone who discriminates between other mecha. Especially when it comes to interface."

Ravage jolted at the sudden turn in conversation.

"Oh... I... Um..." he spluttered.

Ambus somehow closed the gap between them before Ravage fully realized. Up close the Senator's features were even more attractive. Ravage gave a hot shuddering vent, ignoring his mind's prompt to back away.

"For me, attraction comes in all shapes and sizes," Ambus continued in a low intimate murmur, "Variety, they say, is the spice of life. But in some instances, a mech of my own stature is infinitely preferable."

His optics dipped to take in the entirety of Ravage's frame. The action provoking a small shiver in the other mini, followed by a resentful glare. Ambus smiled.

"Though of course, the mech in question would have to be consenting. I don't pursue 'bots who don't exhibit any interest. I want my partners to be willing."

Ravage started as Minimus leaned in towards his audial,

"I want the pleasure of knowing this when said 'bot is reduced to a quivering. Wet. _Mess_. At my hands."

Ravage shuddered impotently on the spot. Despite his words caressing his audial, Ambus had made no attempt to touch him.

"Please," he moaned.

Ambus pulled back to survey Ravage in full.

"Please what darling?" his tone was positively impish. Ravage quivered in both annoyance and arousal.

"Please... I want..." Ravage banished his remaining pride to force out, "You."

All at once Minimus' hands fell on him, dragging him closer,

"Good," he murmured, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to Ravage's audial as one of his hands slipped between his legs to his heated panel.

Ravage's array gave way with an embarrassing swiftness. But Ambus' digit hooking over his anterior node distracted him from any self-consciousness, Ravage moaning and wriggling into his ministrations unrestrainedly.

"You could have had this a lot sooner if you'd only asked," Ambus cooed in his audial, "You certainly didn't have to challenge me on social media. I'll punish you for that. Later. For now I think I'll pleasure you."

Ravage bucked his hips with a whine of gratitude. Ambus chuckled.

"Will you amend your post?"

"I - ahhh - yess!" Ravage hissed around the charge rapidly building over his frame.

"Good boy," Ambus crooned as he pushed him into climax, the minibot surprising him with a sound not unlike a feral yowl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hee, I just like writing Mimi seducing 'bots.


	64. Poem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short silly thing that popped into my head.

Magnus frowned as a notification of an incoming memo from Rodimus flashed on his screen. Rodimus' memos were usually unprofessional in capacity, containing images or videos that Rodimus deemed humorous. Magnus had learnt to avoid any memo containing 'Funny' or 'Watch this!' in the title. But this particular memo was titled URGENT, causing alarm bells to signal in the TIC's processor. He opened it and quickly scanned the contents.

_To Mags,_

_You're kind of red,_

_You're kind of blue,_

_Your aft is nice,_

_Meet me in my hab suite ;)_

Magnus stared at the lines, momentarily unaware his mouth was hanging open. He shut it promptly, feeling his frame heat with embarrassment.

"Rodimus," he growled, unable to stop his optics re-reading the humiliating poem. If it could even be called that, it didn't comply to any rhyming structure. Magnus reigned in thoughts before they spiraled off into a tangent, comm-ing Rodimus' frequency.

::Hey Mags,:: Rodimus purred in greeting, ::You get my memo?::

::Yes,:: Magnus did his best to keep his voice even as he launched into a reproach, ::Rodimus, this is an extremely inappropriate use of the messaging system. Memos, particularly ones labelled as urgent, should only pertain to...::

::But it was urgent,:: Rodimus interrupted.

::I fail to see how,:: Magnus couldn't mask the testiness in his voice.

:Cuz I’m sitting here all hot and bothered thinking about you,:: Rodimus replied, Magnus could hear his grin in every syllable, ::How long until you get to my hab suite?::

::I'm not coming to your hab suite,:: Magnus' voice squeaked a little in his outrage and he flushed even harder, ::I have work to do. Please cease sending me memos of a salacious nature.::

::Sal-what?:: Rodimus said, ::Aw, c'mon Mags, don't be cross. I worked really hard on that poem.::

The disappointment tinging his voice was audible. Magnus ex-vented, feeling his annoyance softening, much against his will.

::Poetry is a difficult format,:: he said, thinking of his own attempts.

His optics once again drifted to the poem. The first two lines weren't too objectionable, though imprecisely worded. Magnus was considering offering some positive feedback, only to tense as his optics happened to roam to the recipient field. There was another designation besides his own.

::Rodimus!::

::What?:: Rodimus sounded a little startled by the sudden rise in his voice.

::You cc'd Megatron to this memo!::

::Oh,:: Rodimus' tone turned infuriatingly casual, ::Yeah I did.::

::Why?:: Magnus hissed.

::To show him he's not the only 'bot on board who can write a poem,:: Rodimus answered with edge of confrontation in his voice.

Magnus pressed his hands to his faceplates and groaned.

::So...:: Rodimus said in the wake of his silence, ::That's a definite no to sexy times...?::

Magnus didn't answer. There was the beep of another notification. Magnus lowered his hands, only to cringe. Megatron had cc'd him into his response to Rodimus.

_Rodimus,_

_Poetry is usually subjective and therefore difficult to impart constructive criticism. But in your case, I feel your attempt lacks a certain nuance and sophistication, especially given the poem's amorous motives. Perhaps you should try to employ more subtlety in the future. Also bear in the mind the subject of your affections may not appreciate being propositioned in this manner nor feel entirely comfortable having the poem viewed by a third party._

_PS. Ultra Magnus, please advise if it is possible to block Rodimus' memos._

_Megatron._

“If only,” Magnus muttered wistfully.

::What was that Mags?:: came Rodimus’ voice in his audial, ::Pfft, did you just read Megs’ reply? Jealous of my skill much? I’m gonna spam him with memes. We're gonna have to reschedule our randy-vous. This might take me a while.::

He hung up before Magnus could reply. He gave another deep ex-vent, reaching underneath his desk to pull out the plush Ten toy that the real Ten had made for him.

“It’s cycles like these that make me question my sanity,” he told the doll forlornly.

Then he hugged the doll to his chestplate. It didn’t make him feel any saner, but it was comforting all the same. Meanwhile a sudden beep informed him that Rodimus had begun his spam war on Megatron without bothering to erase Magnus from the cc field.

Magnus hugged the doll tighter.


	65. 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning spoilers for issue 50. 
> 
> I just had to write something about Megatron hitting Minimus and feeling super bad about it. And Roddy being unexpectedly mature for once.
> 
> Set between Megatron walking out on his class and Lotty turning up at his hab suite.

"You hit him," Rodimus said, his voice strangely quiet, lacking the outrage Megatron had expected.

Still Rodimus' tone did nothing to allay the guilt Megatron felt at being called to account.

"I know," he said, just as quietly, "I suppose you're here to reprimand me?"

He deserved it. And he was fully prepared, for once, to sit there and take Rodimus' vitriol. 

"No," Rodimus' answer surprised him. He paused a moment to let Megatron digest this before adding,"Reprimanding isn't really my strong suit. I'm not Magnus."

He smiled a little but it wasn't his usual Rodimus grin. It was tight and fleeting as Rodimus came to lean against Megatron's doorway.

"But mostly I know there's no point. You know what you did. You feel bad. I think that's punishment enough."

Megatron briefly marveled at the maturity of Rodimus' answer. He was correct of course but Megatron, despite the regret he felt, couldn't quite bring himself to admit it. 

"How do you know what I feel?" he murmured.

"Because it's how I'd feel," Rodimus answered, "Because you care about him."

Megatron stared at him in shock. 

"I..." he instinctively began to protest, only to find he lacked the conviction to lie. Instead he held Rodimus' gaze and admitted the truth, "Yes."

Rodimus remained solemn in the face of his victory, surprising Megatron once again.

"So you see my point?" he said, "You know you might wanna rethink this whole pacifism thing. I mean, I'm glad you've turned your back on killing sprees. But if you're not regularly blowing off steam, this might happen again." 

"It _won't_ happen," Megatron interrupted, "I won't _let_ it happen."

"You didn't mean for it to happen this time," Rodimus pointed out, "But it still happened."

Megatron was silent.

"I know you hate agreeing with me," Rodimus went on, "But this time I'm not being unreasonable. We can't run the risk of you punching crew members. Especially Ambus. I hate to do the protective boyfriend stereotype. But if you hurt him again, I'm not gonna be cool about it."

Megatron nodded,

"I'll... consider finding an outlet," he said.

"Good," Rodimus flashed him a brighter smile, "Now stop moping in your room and make up with Mags. I know you're dying to get back to trying to understand jokes and other nerdy things." 

Megatron ignored the ending obligatory jibe and nodded. 


	66. Lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some RodMinimus fluff with Mus singing. Because since the Xmas special I've been obsessing over the idea of him singing.
> 
> I don't own the song 'For once in my life' or the lyrics. Minimus sings it more in the tones of Tony Bennett. Because he's a lil crooner 'bot.

“Mags,” Rodimus hissed loudly in Minimus’ audial, “Mags, are you awake?”

Minimus had been on the pleasant cusp of drifting into recharge. The intrusion of Rodimus’ voice startled him back into alertness.

“I am now,” he huffed, “What is the matter Rodimus?”

“I can’t recharge,” Rodimus complained, “I’m wide awake.”

Minimus rolled on his side, lacking the enthusiasm to come to Rodimus’ aid.

“Why don’t you try counting cybersheep?” he muttered.

“That’s dumb,” Rodimus scoffed, fingers prodding Minimus’ backstrut, “C’mon Mags. Help me.”

Minimus rolled over to face with an ex-vent,

“Help you how?”

“I dunno,” Rodimus’ optics shined at him in the dark of the hab suite, “Think of something that would make me sleepy.”

Minimus surrendered himself to the fact he wasn’t going to get any recharge until Rodimus powered down.

“I could read you the Autobot Code,” he suggested, “I wouldn’t even need to fetch my copy. I have most of it memor…”

He was cut off by Rodimus’ groaning.

“Ugh, not the Code. That’s boring.”

Minimus huffed,

“Well you did want an activity that would put you to sleep.”

“I don’t want to be bored into recharge,” Rodimus said stubbornly.

Minimus shifted onto his back and crossed his arms,

“Then I’m at a loss,” he said, patience wearing thin due to his general tiredness.

Rodimus made a somewhat pitiful noise before descending into silence. Minimus half-hoped he would drift into recharge while contemplating the answer. But after a moment Rodimus spoke up,

“Why don’t you sing to me?”

Minimus tensed,

“No I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Rodimus said, “You sing on your own all the time. You sing in the wash-rack without realizing I can hear you.”

“You can?” Minimus repeated, horrified.

“Yup, and you sound pretty good too,” Rodimus’ fingers caressed his spaulder, “So why not sing for me?”

“No,” Minimus stammered, “I can’t… I… I’m too embarrassed.”

He remembered the humiliation of Swerve, Nautica and Whirl walking in on his solo all too acutely.

“C’mon,” Rodimus shuffled closer, replacing his fingers on Minimus’ spaulder with his lips, “It’s just you and me. I’d really like to hear you.”

Minimus was torn. Rodimus did sound genuinely encouraging. But he had never performed in front of anyone else before, not voluntarily at least.

“Please,” Rodimus added.

Minimus ex-vented,

“Alright,” he startled himself by saying, “But can you at least offline your optics. I don’t want you looking at me.”

To his credit Rodimus didn’t chuckle.

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” he said, offlining his optics, the outline of his face swallowed by the murk.

It eased Minimus a little, though it was impossible to dismiss Rodimus’ presence, pressed against him, waiting to hear him sing.

What if he sounded dreadful? The idea of failure made him more nervous than idea of performing itself.

But Rodimus admitted to listening to him sing before. It was impossible he would have made the request if he thought he didn’t sound any good. And it wasn’t as though Minimus had never spoken in public. Singing was just another step above that.

He took a deep ex-vent, resolved but still nervous, and plunged ahead,

“ _For once in my life…_ ” his nerves cause his voice to quiver and he pauses sharply, self-conscious.

“Keep going,” Rodimus’ voice rose gently in the dark.

Minimus took another vent and started again,

“ _For once in my life, I have someone who needs me…_ ” he sang softly, “ _Someone I’ve needed so long…_ ”

To his surprise Rodimus broke into a hum. He wondered how Rodimus knew the melody, given it was hardly the genre of music the speedster listened to. However he knew it, his hum helped boost Minimus’ confidence. He sung a little louder, most of his self-consciousness falling away.

“ _For once, unafraid, I can go where life leads me,_  
_And somehow I know I'll be strong…_ ”

By the time Minimus reached the end, his whole frame was coursing with adrenalin. He lay in the dark, scarcely able to believe he had accomplished. He dimly felt Rodimus snuggling against him, felt the outline of his lips curve in a smile.

“Mmm,” he murmured drowsily, “That was nice, you a good singer, Mags.”

For once Minimus held off correcting Rodimus’ grammar. In the dark he allowed himself to smile, listening to the quiet whir of Rodimus’ systems in the midst of recharge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roddy knows the song because he's heard Minimus singing it in the wash-racks :3


	67. 50, Part 2

“I wanted to apologize.”

Minimus' optics flicked down to the datapad on his desk, somewhat uncomfortably, before they lifted back to meet Megatron's gaze. He tried his best to keep his expression steady. 

“You already apologized," he said softly.

Megatron hesitated before taking a single step forward.

“I know. But it still doesn’t feel like enough. I… Hit you.”

“You didn’t mean to…” Minimus found himself saying.

“That doesn’t matter," Megatron said, distress growing more evident in his voice, "I hit you. _You._ The first time I lash out and it’s you I hit.”

Minimus wasn't quite sure what to make of the remark.

“Better me than any of the crew,” he said finally.

“It shouldn’t have happened," Megatron stressed through clenched teeth, "You didn’t deserve that. I… I could have _killed_ you.”

Minimus couldn't help flinching, the memory of that burst of pain sharp and clear in his processor. The feeling of being thrown, of hitting the floor, the shadowed threatening way Megatron had towered over him, the revelation of what had just occurred spilling over him. He took a slow vent and steadied himself once more.

“You didn’t,” he said firmly, “I’m a lot stronger than people realize, even in this form.”

Megatron gazed at him, mouth twisted in a deep frown,

“I’m not calling you weak Minimus. I’m saying what I did was completely inexcusable," he raised his palms, "And I understand if you wish to distance yourself from me.”

He made to turn. For a single guilty moment Minimus wanted nothing more than to let him leave. But he knew it would achieve nothing, no resolution for either of them.

“That is impossible," he said, stopping Megatron in his tracks, "Given our working relationship."

Minimus hesitated a moment before adding,

"Nor do I feel the need, personally."

Megatron's optics widened in surprise.

"You..." he murmured, seeming at loss.

Minimus' fingers skirted restlessly over the surface of the datapad,

"In hindsight, it was an error on my part. Approaching you at that point. You were clearly disorientated. I should have comm’d Velocity.”

“Don’t you dare blame yourself!” Megatron cut in, seeming almost outraged at Minimus' words, “You were acting out of concern. Concern I repaid by assaulting you!"

This time Minimus managed not to flinch,

“We all make mistakes."

The vehemence drained from Megatron's expression, melancholy taking its place. He was silent, perhaps realizing Minimus wasn't finished,

“You’re clearly remorseful," he said, "I don’t see any reason to hold a grudge."

It would only do more harm than good. And deep down, despite the shock and hurt the punch had caused, Minimus couldn't bring himself to hate Megatron, seeing his regret laid bare in front of him. Even so, he wasn't prepared to forget the severity of the incident, pretend it never happened.

"I don't think the incident can be brushed aside, from a safety point of view," he went on, "Not only in respects to the crew, but you as well, Megatron.”

Megatron sighed,

“Rodimus suggested I find an outlet."

Minimus felt a burst of admiration for Rodimus. 

“You could always join me on the shooting range…" he told Megatron, "That is, if you don’t mind Whirl being present as well. He and I have… something of an arrangement.”

Megatron's answering smile was apologetic,

“That is very kind," he said, "But I would prefer not to put a weapon in my hands.”

Thinking back, at the sight of Megatron with his arm raised, as though preparing to fire his now non-existent fusion canon, Minimus couldn't help agreeing. 

“Some other option then,” he said, doing his best to sound encouraging.

Megatron nodded,

"Yes. I'll keep you notified," he paused, looking slightly awkward, "I'll let you return to your work."

This time Minimus didn't stop him. The discussion was over, the healing tentatively begun, it was better for the two of them to have a little space. 

He waited for Megatron to leave before loosening the shaky ex-vent he had held in since the mech's arrival, fingers moving to touch his helm, not quite able to banish the ghostly presence of the latter's fist.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angsty ending I know. But I think it would take Minimus, or anyone, a while to recover from being assaulted like that, especially by someone they were becoming close to. And though I think Minimus tries to treat Megatron normally after the incident (which we saw in the issue), I think it would take a while for him to feel genuinely comfortable around him, especially outside the Armor... But then all the slag when down in the issue, so who knows what's gonna happen next!


	68. Ambassador (SG)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More SG Rahdy. With hats. And tentacles.

"Frag," Rodimus whimpered at the awe-inspiring sight beneath him, the nest of writhing tentacles emerging from the Plesurian Ambassador's robes, "And I thought youse hat was impressive..."

His optics briefly shot to the Plesurian's blob of a face, to the charming black cap that occupied the top of it's head. The same cap Rodimus currently wore on his own helm, albeit at a slightly jauntier angle.

The Plesurian made a clicking sound reminiscent of a chuckle. Rodimus grinned openly in response and reached down to stroke the first tentacle he could seize hold of. It curled around his finger, so much softer and dexterous than a spike.

Rodimus fondled along the underside, over the series of suckers, feeling the sticky texture. The grayish sheen of the Plesurian suddenly took on a shimmer of purple. Rodimus was delighted. The Plesuri's ability to change color fascinated him. But even more so when the purple hue indicated arousal.

"Youse like dat huh?" he cooed.

Rodimus lifted his finger, coated with sticky residue and lewdly licked it clean. The Plesurian's clicks deepened in tone, almost guttural. The tentacles lunged upwards, splaying over Rodimus' thighs, prodding at his heated panel.

"Curious what I'm packin'?" Rodimus crooned, "I think I could show youse, for the sake o' diplomacy."

He didn't have the patience to wait for the Plesurian's reply. His array opened, exposing both pressurized spike and swollen valve.

Rodimus leered up at the Plesurian proudly,

"Like what you see-eeeeeee!" the word became a yelp as the tentacles swarmed over his interface without warning, curling around his spike while simultaneously rubbing against his valve entrance, dragging through the warmth of his lubricant, snagging over his anterior node, one entering him with one wriggling thrust.

Rodimus could only buck his hips helplessly, uttering profanity. It wasn't as though he'd never had his spike and valve pleasured simultaneously before. He'd had plenty of threesomes. But a mouth or valve over his spike while his valve was penetrated wasn't quite the same as having several slippery tentacles assaulting him all at once.

"Fraggin' _frag_ ," he cried blissfully, content to undulate his hips above the Plesuri's lap while the tentacles worked their magic over his erogenous zones, " _Ambassador_. Youse so good. So _good_."

He met the Ambassador's single eye blearily. The Plesurian seemed in better control than himself, though he was flushing an even more vibrant purple. He watched Rodimus huff and squirm unabashedly, the Prime uttering a squeal as another fat tentacle squeezed past his valve mesh to join the one already thrusting deep down his channel.

"Oh frag uhnn," Rodimus bit on his lip, he was _close_. The suckers were poppling over his internal nodes, tentacles ceaseless in their thrusts. Those that remained outside were still heaving over his spike and nudging over his anterior node. The resulting charge made his thighs tremble and he fell forward, grasping the Plesurians' squishy shoulders, _molten_ and desperate,

"Mimi!" he half-howled, half-sobbed, "Don't stop, frag, make me 'load!"

It seemed impossible but at that moment the tentacles increased their ministrations with even greater tenacity, hurtling Rodimus into rapturous, copious overload. He slumped against the Plesurian a moment, feeling the tentacles still lodged in his valve gently twist back through recesses of his channel to emerge with a slick pop.

More transfluid dribbled down onto the Ambassador's lap. Rodimus shot him a tired but winning grin before dismounting and crawling onto the nearby berth. He stretched out, momentarily offlining his optics.

"Dat was amazin'."

"You broke character," a familiar voice chided.

"I know," Rodimus groaned, though his mouth split into a smirk, "Couldn't help it."

He wrenched himself upright, studying the transfluid and remnants of tentacle residue splashed over his interface and thighs. Minimus had deactivated the Plesurian guise. His lap was similarly soaked with Rodimus' fluid, though presently he was occupied with the holomatter device on his wrist.

"I must admit Whirl did a remarkable job," he said, "The sensory relay is quite incredible."

Rodimus gave a grunt of agreement. He slumped on his backstrut and stretched his limbs.

"Can't believe the real Ambassador didn't wanna frag this," he pouted up at the ceiling.

Minimus abandoned his inspection of the holomatter device to offer a consoling look.

"His loss my love."

Rodimus’ pout reverted to a smirk,

"Damn straight," he gave Minimus something of an adoring look, "Youse fragged me better than he prolly could anyhow."

Minimus smiled,

"I'm glad you're satisfied," he reached for the cap on his helm, the only tangible part of the Plesuri costume, appearing much bigger on him and almost sloping over his optics, "Though I confess I still haven't gained much affection for organic headwear."

"Leave it," Rodimus pleaded, "Just a lil longer."

Minimus relented with a rare grumble,

"Things I do for you," he said as he joined Rodimus on the berth, settling in the crook of his arm. Rodimus tipped the over-sized brim of the cap back to press a kiss to Minimus' forehelm,

"I make worth youse while," he said, the comment earning a smile.


	69. Frag, Conjunx, Kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just had the idea of mecha playing a version of 'fuck, marry, kill' and Whirl answering a little too in-depth about why Magnus is his option to marry.
> 
> Plus it gave me an excuse to write Whirl. 
> 
> Warning some melancholy Trails in this chapter.

Whirl entered Swerve's and looked for the most interesting place to install him. His optic settled on the recently re-christened Trailcutter sitting with the likes of Huffer, Hoist and Hound. They were all leaning in, speaking in hushed tones and grinning.

Curiosity piqued, Whirl moved in, elbowing his way between Trailcutter and Huffer.

"What are we doing?"

His intrusion brought a sharp halt to the conversation. Whirl was used to it. The typical awkward silence that followed his arrival. But no one dared ask him to leave.

Finally Hoist answered,

"We're playing Frag, Conjunx, Kill."

"Oh yeah," Whirl's optic beamed with interest, "Who're we choosing from?"

The query was met with shared looks of reluctance. Whirl entertained the thought he was one of the options. But then Trailcutter, already looking half-fendered, confirmed otherwise.

"Megatron, Rodimus and Magnus," he slurred, a little too loudly, the rest of the group shushing him. Trails pouted, "What? Ain't like any o' 'em are here."

"Swerve is," Hound tilted his helm in the direction of the bar, "You know what he's like."

"Megatron, Rodimus and Magnus," Whirl said more loudly than Trailcutter, causing Hound and the others to wince. He glanced to make sure Swerve was looking over with an open look of curiosity before rubbing his claws in a business-like manner, "Pfft that's easy. Kill Megatron, obviously."

There were some muted murmurs of agreement. Buckethead was their former enemy and infamous mass murderer. Not a lot of 'bots would select him for the other two options. Maybe someone naive like Nautica. But the Camien was across the room with her usual posse.

"Frag Rodimus," Whirl continued, "Been there, done that anyway."

"Yeah right," Trails scoffed under his breath.

Whirl threw his arm around the Outlier, to the latter's discomfort.

"What was that, Cutter, ole buddy?"

Trailcutter gave a sigh, not quite fendered enough to have the drunk courage to shove Whirl away. Instead he hunched his shoulders,

"Nuthin'," he said, followed by a deep chug of engex. Whirl had every intention of sticking around as he got well and truly hammered. If he didn’t slip into a self-pitying spiral, he was good quality.

“So you wouldn’t marry Rodimus?” Huffer asked, prompting a few frustrated looks from his friends for encouraging Whirl’s involvement.

“Pits no,” Whirl said, “Rodders is immature, messy and bangs anything that moves. Not ideal qualities in a conjunx am I right?”

“Least he’s a bit of fun,” Trailcutter said, “I mean, he looks like he’s a bit of fun. Not that he ever hangs ‘round with us.”

He hunched his shoulders even tighter and took a melancholy sip of his drink. Whirl watched with annoyance at the emergence of Self-Pitying Trails before thumping him hard on the backstrut, causing Trailcutter to choke on his mouthful,

“Fun is for friends,” Whirl said, “You think Chromedome is actually _fun_ to hang around? A mopey mnemosurgeon. ‘Course not. But he’s loyal. He doesn’t flash optics at other mecha. Magnus would be the same. He’s duty-minded and all that scrap.”

“But he’s also strict,” Hoist pointed out, “To an insane degree, wouldn’t that drive you crazy?”

Whirl waved his claw dismissively,

"First off, I drive him crazy,” he said, not without a touch of pride.

There was no argument. Whirl’s weekly breaking-in to Magnus’ office was well-known. As was the sight of Magnus chasing him down the corridors to reclaim his stolen property.

“Second, he's nuts about cleanliness, meaning our hab suite is always gonna be tidy. Thirdly he comes in two sizes. Big and tiny. The big version can take care of himself in a fight. The teeny version would probably be good to cuddle with. And if you got in a fight, you could just put him on a really high shelf.”

“I doubt he’d like that,” Huffer said.

“Nothing he could do about it,” Whirl said, a little distracted by the potential of this idea. Bundling Minimus up onto a shelf might land him in the brig but it would be worth it just to see the look on his face.

“I wasn’t listening to anything beyond ‘cuddle’,” Hound said with a slight grimace, “The mental image.”

“What’s wrong with me cuddling my conjunx?” Whirl let an edge of defensiveness slip into his voice, “That’s what conjunx do.”

Hound waved his hands in a placating gesture,

“Yeah but its Magnus. He doesn’t strike me as the cuddling type.”

“You never know what ‘bots are like behind closed doors,” Whirl shrugged, “Especially mecha like Magnus who act all proper. He might be a cuddle _fiend_ for all we know.”

Hoist and Hound shared a skeptical glance.

“He does look sorta cuddly,” Huffer said, “He’s so tiny.”

“I wouldn’t admit that to his face,” Hound advised.

“I’d cuddle him,” Trailcutter mumbled into his glass, “I’d cuddle anyone who _offered_. Just sayin’.”

“I’ll cuddle you,” Whirl threatened, “I’ll lock you in a chokehold ‘til you get over your pity party. Would you like that Trails?”

Trailcutter sent him a bleary glare,

“Oh frag _off_ Whirl.”

It came across as more whiny than aggressive but at least it was some sign of Trailcutter coming out of his funk.

“Not yet,” Whirl said, pleased by the sight of Trailcutter gritting his denta, “I haven’t finished my answer. Fourth, Magnus – tiny Magnus - has a moustache. Fifth, as his conjunx I get to play with his moustache. Sixth, if I married Magnus, it would make Roddy super jelly. Seventh..."

“There’s more?” Hound said.

“He’s obviously put some thought into this,” Hoist said.

“It doesn’t take a super genius,” Whirl scoffed, “Take this gem of superior thinking for instance. If I kill Megatron, Magnus can't use his super lawyer skills to oppose me in a trial. Conflict of interest y’see. He probably wouldn't be able to arrest me anymore either. Actually out of everyone on this ship, Magnus is probably the best mech to marry.”

Whirl slammed a claw on the table triumphantly,

“Boom, done, I win. I am the master of logic. Skids, Brainstorm and Percy can lick my gun tits. All bow before me, etcetera.”

He leaned back, claws folded, looking the picture of smugness. The others exchanged looks but wisely remained silent. 

“In fact," Whirl went on, "If I didn’t enjoy my bachelorhood so much, I’d ask ole Magnus right now.”

“Ask me what Whirl?” came Magnus’ deep resonating voice.

Whirl tipped his helm back to see Magnus towering behind him,

"I hope you're not causing trouble,” he said sternly.

"No honey,” Whirl answered sweetly, “I'm being good."

Magnus nodded, turned, took a step, froze then whirled back around.

"What did you just call me?"


	70. Amica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during issue 51.
> 
> Because the idea of Mags and Megs becoming amica makes me gooey and sad at the same time.
> 
> Also to my amica Insec, Happy Birthday :)

"Magnus, a word."

Magnus answers with a nod and follows Megatron to a quiet corridor of the fortress.

"Yes?"

Megatron is silent, optics on the stump of Magnus' missing arm.

"Does it hurt?" He asks.

"It would," Magnus says, "But I've disabled the sensory relay to that part of the Armor."

Megatron looks relived,

"Good. I wouldn't want you to be in any unnecessary pain."

Magnus is taken aback by the concern.

"Likewise," he says, the polite response but he knows that he means it.

The barest flicker of a smile graces Megatron's lips, tiny but meaningful.

"I can see why the others make innuendo about us."

Magnus flushes,

"I suppose going off together doesn't help our case," he says wistfully.

"I'd imagine their minds are not concentrated on us at the moment," Megatron assures him gravely.

"Yes," Magnus agrees with matching gravity, "The situation is... not the best."

How he wishes Ten hadn't come along, that he was somewhere safe.  Though considering the climate on board the _Lost Light_ , his situation wouldn't be that much improved had he stayed.

"We'll get through it," he says, not because he believes it but because it seems the right thing to say, "Somehow. At least we're together."

"Together," Megatron echoes, seeming to reflect on the word before meeting Magnus' optics, "Magnus, I wanted to tell you that I'm leaving."

"Leaving?" Magnus struggles to comprehend the sudden admission.

"The fortress," Megatron elaborates, "There's something I need do... or rather someone I need to meet."

Magnus frowns. The only mechanisms outside are Deceptions intent on murdering them.

"I don't think that's wise," he says, but he can feel the resolution in Megatron's field, "At least let me accompany you."

Megatron shakes his helm,

"I appreciate the offer. But I wouldn't put you in danger."

"But you'll put yourself in danger?" Magnus protests.

"For a chance to end this conflict," Megatron says, "To protect the crew."

He presses a hand to Magnus chestplate, stifling any further objection.

"To protect _you_ ," he says, "Yes."

Magnus' mouth opens but no response issues forth. He's struck by the protectiveness in Megatron's field. The reemergence of that tiny smile on the mechs lips.

"I wanted to thank you."

"Thank me?" Magnus manages to say.

The smile on Megatron's lips remains, sad and grateful at the same time.

"I haven't had a mech I'd consider a friend since... Since Terminus."

Magnus knows of Terminus. The esteem Megatron once held of him. The guilt at leaving him to his demise. Guilt that emerges at the mention of his designation.

"I failed Terminus," Megatron says, "I won't accept failing you."

"And I won't accept you sacrificing yourself," Magnus is surprised by the passion in his voice, "Please. Lets talk to Rodimus. Discuss..."

"No," Megatron says, "There is nothing to discuss. Only something to give."

The last words confuse Magnus enough nor to resume his plea. Megatron draws a familiar tablet from his subspace.

"I know it's customary for amica to exchange gifts. A gift of my own poetry seems a touch self-centered but it's my only possession."

He holds it out.

"I can't," Magnus protests. He feels unworthy of being granted such a personal item. "Its yours..."

"And I want you to have it," Megatron presses the tablet into Magnus' remaining hand, "Unless, you wish to decline my offer of becoming amica?"

"No," Magnus says, fingers gripping the tablet in emphasis, "Its just... so sudden. And I. I have nothing to give you."

"Your acceptance is more than enough," Megatron assures him.

Magnus is not so convinced. He wants to follow protocol, especially given the sanctity of what they are entering into albeit sans an official ceremony. He's never had an amica. People he cares about, yes, Megatron included, despite all the history that tells him he shouldn't. Rodimus, though their relationship has never been fully defined and Magnus feels it leans less towards amica than something else entirely.

"If tradition calls for the exchange of a gift..." he insists.

Megatron startles him by spreading his arms,

"Hug?" he suggests, startling Magnus even further. "Joke."

Magnus untenses with relief.

"Your humor is improving," he notes.

"I think so," Megatron says with some hint of pride, "I credit your assistance."

"That's very doubtful," Magnus says, though he feels a touch of pride all the same.

He watches Megatron's expression dissolve into something more solemn, final.

"I have to go," he tells Magnus and inside the Armour, Minimus' spark wrenches in his chest. But he knows there's nothing he can do to prevent Megatron from leaving. Only hope for the best.

"Why don't I hold onto this for safekeeping," he says, referring to Megatron's poetry, "And when you come back, we can have a proper ceremony and I can give you a gift."

Megatron hesitates before humoring him with a nod.

"Yes amica."

The word is full of warmth and for a moment Magnus allows himself to believe there will be a ceremony, a future of some sort, until Megatrons back turns and reality once again hits deep in his spark as he walks away.


	71. Endura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follow-up to Amica and I was due for some Roddy/Minimus fluff.

"You're out of your Armor."

Minimus turned at the sound of Rodimus' voice and watched him approach,

"I'm kinda glad, it was looking worse for wear. At least the real you isn't missing an arm."

_Not yet_ , Minimus thought morbidly. Still he didn't voice it. What good would such talk do?

"What's that?" Rodimus pointed to the datapad in Minimus' hands, "Please don't tell me you're still doing reports."

"Megatron's poetry," Minimus answered, his processor dwelling on the mech, "He asked me to be his amica."

"He did?" Rodimus exclaimed, then huffed, "Trust Megs to try to one up me even in a situation like this."

He flopped onto the floor besides Minimus.

"You agreed obviously."

Minimus felt a tiny twinge of guilt at Rodimus' pout.

"You would have preferred I refused?"

Rodimus ex-vented,

"No," he said, "Even if I did, it's none of my business. Anyway it's not like he asked you to become conjunx."

Minimus couldn't help grumbling a little. There had been many misguided conclusions drawn about his friendship with Megatron.

"Why would he, there's no precedent. Our feelings are wholly platonic."

"Platonic huh?" Rodimus smiled, "And what about us?"

"You and I?" Minimus echoed, not quite prepared for the turn in conversation, "I don't think I would necessarily call us platonic."

"What would you call us?" Rodimus pressed.

Minimus found himself summoning a term Rodimus had uttered once post-interface.

"A hot mess."

Rodimus stared at him a moment before bursting into a gale of laughter. Minimus frowned,

"I'm only using your term!"

Rodimus managed to reign in his laughter,

"Yeah I know. And I love you for it."

Minimus jolted at the use of a certain word,

"You do?"

Rodimus' expression grew more solemn, lips forming a small smile.

"You know I do."

His hand reached for Minimus, cupping his smaller fingers.

"Don't you?"

"Yes," Minimus' spark seemed to seize control of his vocalizer to answer, "Rodimus, I feel the same."

Rodimus tossed his helm back, offlining his optics,

"About me being a master of phrasing. Yeah."

Minimus winced a bit at being seemingly misunderstood.

"No, I mean. I..."

He trailed off at the squeeze of Rodimus' hand. He outlined his optics,

"I know what you mean," he said softly.

He leaned to kiss the side of Minimus' helm.

"Mech," he chuckled as he pulled away and settled back into a more comfortable position, "We really are a hot mess."

"I suppose we are," Minimus admitted. In the past he would have objected to such a term. But in this moment it seemed right. He allowed Rodimus to pull him against his frame.

"I wouldn't want it any other way."

Minimus settled into Rodimus' embrace, content not to think of what lay ahead, just for a little while.

"Nor would I."


	72. New Beginnings (Alternate Lost Light)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a headcanon of why alternate Lost Light Minimus revealed himself when the whole Tyrest thing never happened.
> 
> And I like to think Drift and Minimus bonded after Rodimus' death before the DJD... Gotta stop myself, don't want to think about it :'(

It had been Drift who had pulled Minimus away from Rewind, leaving Chromedome to console the latter.

"Let me go," Minimus twisted in the swordmech's hold, still incensed from the encounter, Rewind's anger and denial ringing in his audials.

Drift complied, fingers lifting away gently.

"You're shaking," he said, voice just as gentle. The observation bringing about Minimus' realization of the fact. He was trembling, and try as he might he couldn't stop trembling. He met Drift's concerned gaze, the pity in them only increasing the shame he felt at displaying such lack of restraint, weakness.

"I'm fine," he did his best to draw himself up in an authoritative stance and failed, Drift towering over him while his frame quivered.

"No," the swordmech said, "You're not."

Before Minimus for retort, Drift dropped to his haunches, assembling himself into a cross legged position on the floor. He patted the space next him.

"Sit," he said.

Minimus' resistance was automatic. He had already made a rather unprofessional scene with Rewind, sitting on the floor with Drift wasn't exactly redeeming.

"Sit," Drift repeated, "Trust me."

Trust an ex-Decepticon? The judgmental thought shot through Minimus' processor, as knee-jerk a reaction as his objection to floor-sitting. Once upon a time, inside the Magnus Armor, he would have felt justified in his distrust.

But after everything, after Rodimus...

Drift had proven to be no threat, and the fact he was trying to help Minimus, in his own strange way, made him feel ashamed. Enough to even relent to joining Drift, copying his stance awkwardly. But as awkward as he felt, he couldn't deny it was something of a relief to take the weight off his trembling legs.

He gave Drift a sidelong glance, watching the swordmech offline his optics.

"Now cycle in," he said and Minimus heard him take a deep intake then ex-vent, "And out."

Minimus hesitated but eventually complied, copying Drift’s pattern.

"Better?" the swordmech asked after a few cycles.

Minimus nodded,

"Thank you,” he said softly.

"Do you want to talk?" Drift ventured.

Minimus’ next vent was one of hesitance,

"Not particularly."

He didn’t want to dwell on Rewind or his brother.

"It's alright," Drift said, "You shouldn't feel pressured to open up to me."

He resumed his breathing exercise. Minimus debated whether or not to excuse himself. In the end he fell back into copying him.

"I do have a question though," Drift said after a span of ten kliks, “It’s not related to Rewind.”

Minimus didn’t fail to notice a certain hesitance to Drift’s voice. It made him slightly uneasy. Still, Drift had specified it not being about Rewind. Minimus figured he at least owed him the opportunity of voicing his query.

“Proceed,” he said.

"Why did you reveal yourself?"

Minimus suddenly understood Drift’s reluctance. The question was just as personal as discussing his brother. But he consented to answering.

"There was no longer any point,” he found himself saying.

“In what?”

"In masquerading as someone I wasn't,” Minimus’ hands tightened on his knees, a familiar feeling of helplessness spilling over him, "As someone I wasn’t _fit_ to be. I couldn't save him. I should have. I should ordered him not to go through with his plan. But I didn't...”

Painful images seared through his processor. The confidence in Rodimus’ face before his demise, the moment of realizing his death. The way Rodimus had looked in his coffin, silent and still, so different from the mech he had known, almost as though it wasn’t Rodimus at all.

Only it had been. His death a blinding, painful reminder of the mech’s own mortality. And Magnus’ failure to protect him.  

“Maybe a part of me thought he was invincible," he murmured, “But he wasn’t – he was more fragile than I ever imagined.”

“Yes he was,” came Drift’s reply, a distant melancholy lilt in his tone as though he was lost in his own thoughts.

Minimus looked over to see the same pain in Drift’s optics, imagining the snippets of memory being played through the swordmech’s own processor. He had been there, had experienced the loss up close just as much Minimus. His relaxed stance tightened, became hunched, hands gripping his kneeplates,

"I was so convinced he was the one,” he said, “I never thought... Expected him to... I shouldn't have put that pressure on him. I keep thinking, if I hadn't put him on such a pedestal, maybe he would have been a little more cautious. The idea that he died trying to live up to some standard..."

Minimus shook his helm,

"He died trying to protect the crew,” he said, “It's not your fault Drift."

A shudder rolled over Drift’s frame as he sighed. He glanced over at Minimus.

"It's not your fault either."

Minimus looked away. It was easier to assuage Drift’s conscience than his own. He felt Drift’s fingers on his elbow, a firm pressure,

"Magnus, it’s not your fault.”

“I miss him,” Minimus found himself confessing, “There were cycles when he vexed me so much I wished I was anywhere but this ship. But now I miss him. Therefore I must have… liked him. You don’t miss a person you don’t like. Isn’t that right?”

He turned to Drift for confirmation. He was met with a smile.

“I know he liked you.”

Minimus ex-vented,

“He didn’t even _know_ me. The real me. Now he never will.”

His spark physically hurt at the revelation. Drift squeezing his elbow was a small comfort.

“I know for a fact he would have loved you,” Drift’s smile quirked in a way that was reminiscent of Rodimus, “Look at your moustache.”

Minimus narrowed his optics at the statement.

“Is that humor to elevate the tone?” he asked, “I’m not good with humor.”

“Something you and Magnus have in common?”

“I… I don’t know,” Minimus answered, “On record he seemed to have been a serious sort of fellow. But there's no way to confirm.”

“Then maybe you showed Rodimus more of the real you than you realized?” Drift said.

Minimus stared at him in surprise. In the past he would have found such a statement a damning indication of his failure to uphold the Magnus persona. But here, now, it made him desperately glad, grateful for Drift’s perceptiveness.

“Perhaps,” he said, “Thank you Drift.”

“You’re welcome,” Drift’s smile faltered somewhat, “Um, can I call Minimus?”

Minimus nodded, watching Drift's smile return at the response.  

“I would like that very much.”


	73. Chaperone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something I wrote ages ago and managed to finish off.
> 
> Because I think Magnus would still have a teeny hero crush on Thunderclash when he joined the crew. Which I believe Thunders reciprocates a little bit.
> 
> And Roddy, who's jealous and embarrassing and, well, Roddy.

Thunderclash towered over Minimus in his true form, as most mecha did. But his smile was no different, albeit slightly puzzled, beaming down at him.

"Hello little fellow."

Minimus flushed a little at the reference to his size.

"Minimus," he told him, "Minimus Ambus, though you know me as..."

"Ultra Magnus," Thunderclash startled him.

"How..?" he stuttered.

"Your aura," Thunderclash gave him a tender smile, "I knew it was familiar."

Minimus flushed even more deeply, a condition exacerbated by Thunderclash dropping to one knee and engulfing Minimus' hand in his own,

"It's an honor to meet you, Minimus."

"Likewise," Minimus said, "You... aren't curious as to how..."

"I am," Thunderclash answered, "Though you shouldn't feel you owe me an explanation. If this is you, Magnus, (or do you prefer Minimus?), I accept it, you're still the same mech I met previously."

"I appreciate the sentiment,” Minimus said gratefully, “Truly. I..."

"Mags, what the frag!” Rodimus’ voice boomed across Swerve’s, and Minimus caught sight of the co-Captain practically pushing other mecha aside to close in on them, “I said you need a chaperone around Thunders! You know you get hug-y.”

Minimus pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to fight the wave of mortification.

“I thought you were joking,” he muttered, “I had hoped you were joking.”

“Joking?” Rodimus looked affronted, “About protecting my TiC’s honor? Magnus, you _wound_ me. I mean, what kind of Captain would I be if I didn’t look after your welfare?”

“Welfare?” Minimus groaned, “Rodimus, you are embarrassing me!”

“Pff, no I’m not,” Rodimus rebutted blithely.

“For the Accord’s sake,” Minimus began angrily – only to be distracted by Thunderclash looking on. He turned to him instead, “I’m very sorry for the deviation in conversation. Contrary to Rodimus’ beliefs, I do not require a chaperone.”

“Yeah you do…” Rodimus muttered.

“It’s alright,” Thunderclash’s words silenced Minimus’ retort. The large mech smiled, “It wouldn’t have bothered me either way. Your comfort is paramount.”

“Oh er thank you,” Minimus stammered under the beam of that genial smile.

“Mags you’re blushing!” Rodimus interrupted loudly.

“I am _not_ ,” Minimus objected, though his temperature gauge said otherwise.

Rodimus made matters worse by throwing himself between the pair.

“I’m ready to intercept if you go for a hug.”

“I am not – I do not…” Minimus’ protests fell away to exasperation, “I have paperwork to do! Please excuse me.”

The last courtesy was reserved more for Thunderclash. Minimus sent Rodimus a withering glance before scurrying off. 

Rodimus watched him with a fond smile,

“He’s so cute in this form,” he tossed his helm in Thunderclash’s direction and narrowed his optics, “And by cute I mean off-limits, capisce Thunders?”

Then he swaggered off with a smile of triumph.


	74. SG Invention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My excuse to write something with poor Whirl being Mimi's sex toy scientist. Plus it was a chance to write more goofy fanmech Percy :'3

Whirl had come to notice the Senator always arrived at his lab looking like an excited sparkling. It wasn’t his height. It was the way he stared up at Whirl with bright, expectant optics.

“So what have you come up with?”

The comparison was made even stranger by the fact Whirl would then hand him a device designed for interfacing at the Senator’s behest. This cycle was no different, though as soon as Ambus caught sight of Whirl’s latest endeavor his smile faltered somewhat.

“Valve beads?” he said, staring at the string of small metallic beads, “For a minibot frame I’m assuming,” an ex-vent, “I don't know Whirl, it seems a little… _uninventive_ for you.”

Whirl fought back a shiver at his tone. Ambus was no raving lunatic like Optimus, but he knew better than to disappoint him.

“The beads are in their compressed state,” he said hurriedly, “For easy insertion,” he indicated the two-switch controller at the end of the string, “This controls the size of the beads. You can inflate and deflate them, depending on your preference.”

He demonstrated by inflating the beads to maximum capacity. Minimus’ optics grew wide with delight.

“How imaginative!” he remarked, much to Whirl’s relief, “I stand corrected Whirl, my apologies. And the other switch?”

“Controls vibration,” Whirl demonstrated. The lab was soon filled with buzzing from the vibrating beads, “There’s even a timing feature, if you wish to use it.”

“Even better,” Minimus’ grin changed from large to sly, “And you’ve tested it, I trust.”

“I, um,” Whirl flushed, glancing over at his assistant hovering in the background, “Well, Perc…”

“I came three times!” Perceptor called out unabashedly.

“Well that’s a sterling recommendation if there ever was one,” Minimus beamed at the uncomfortable-looking Whirl, “Keep up the good work.”

Whirl forced a smile,

“Thank you Senator.”

He waited until Ambus had left for his shoulders to descend in a long-suffering slump. 

Percy meanwhile let out a dreamy sigh.

“And to think, something I shoved up my valve is gonna be shoved up someone else’s. Someone important. Like the Prime, or… Maybe even Swerve. Do you think he frags Swerve? I read he’s dating a datastick but you can’t always believe the tabloids. I don’t think he’d pass up the Senator if he expressed interest. I mean I wouldn’t. I’ve seen those old vids. Do you think he still films himself? Could you imagine if footage of Swerve ever got leaked? With our beads? The beads I tested? Could you imagine that Whirly…” 

“Cep?” Whirl interrupted wearily.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up,” Whirl slunk back to his workbench, ignoring Perceptor’s squawk of indignation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Percy's wrong. I imagine Mimi used them on Megs first X3


	75. Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set before sparkeater Dominus reveal.
> 
> I can't help headcanoning that Dominus and Minimus had a bordering incestuous relationship due to their connection when they were younger then grew apart as they got older - with Dominus getting a new body and all his success. There might be traces of this in this one-shot if you squint.
> 
> But mostly Roddy/Minimus feels!

Rodimus was perplexed.

It wasn't as though he had offered a spark merge to Minimus all willy-nilly. There had been planning involved. There had been thought into ambience and the lighting of the hab suite. The proposal had been a serious gesture, after contemplation of their relationship. Despite his assumed flakiness, Rodimus didn't offer his spark to just any mech. His frame, yes, his attention, but his spark. No that belonged to a special mech.

And Minimus seemed to fit that bill, at least Rodimus had thought. Thought Minimus might feel the same, though he was notorious shy about grand gestures. Rodimus hadn't expected an ecstatic yes, more surprise followed by cautious but sparkfelt agreement. What he hadn't expected was Minimus answering with an emphatic, borderline horrified no.

Alright maybe Rodimus was a little more than perplexed. More hurt, though he disguised it well enough with a jest of 'coming on too strong?’ He had opened his chestplate, which he supposed had been a little premature and presumptuous. Now in face of Minimus’ refusal, having his bare spark on display made him feel intensely vulnerable. He closed it swiftly with a click.

Now Minimus looked apologetic, not that much an improvement in Rodimus’ optics.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “You caught me unawares and I…” he trailed off with a grimace and Rodimus tried not to wince.

“Not ready,” he said, not quite able to swallow the disappointment in his voice, “Yeah I um, guessed that.”

Minimus looked at him with wide, protesting optics,

“No, it’s not…” his gaze dropped as he ex-vented softly “Rodimus, I can’t.”

The words were like a blow to Rodimus’ spark. He made a show of rubbing the back of his helm in a feign of sheepishness,

“Wow Mags, I knew I was bad but I never thought I wasn’t spark-bond material.”

Minimus’ optics shot up. He waved his arms in a way that might have been adorably comical in any other situation.

“That’s not what I’m saying. And if the circumstances were different, I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea of us… You know.”

He trailed off, a familiar look of embarrassment at his face. A flush on his cheekplates that always appeared when he spoke candidly about their relationship. It was a welcome relief but Rodimus was still confused.

“What circumstances?” he asked, “Do you mean the mood lighting?”

“No,” Minimus shook his helm sadly, “I’m referring to my brother.”

Rodimus hadn’t been expecting that.

“Huh?”

Minimus laced his arms over his chestplate.

“Dominus and I are spark brothers,” he said mournfully.

Rodimus scratched his helm, still flummoxed.

“So?”

Minimus looked at a little pained at his lack of comprehension.

“So we share a connection,” he said, “It’s not quite the same as having split sparks but… We can feel it when the other one bonds.”

“Really?” Rodimus said, curiosity piqued, “Feel it as in experience it yourself?”

“Not quite,” Minimus’ discomfort was audible, “More like an echo of sensation. An echo of what my brother was feeling, when he…”

He trailed off, leaving Rodimus to ponder momentarily before realization hit.

“Oh,” he said, “Rewind.”

Minimus nodded, gaze downwards, looking pitifully small and miserable.

“He was my brother. We grew apart but the connection we shared was still the same. When he bonded with Rewind, it felt… Like he was truly abandoning me. I don’t begrudge Dominus from falling in love, but in that moment, feeling everything he felt for Rewind, knowing I wasn’t in any way part of it, it… I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. On Dominus. If he’s alive out there, somewhere, like Rewind believes, I don’t want him to experience the same as he made me.”

“Oh Mags,” Rodimus said softly.

Minimus refused to look up,

“I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want,” he murmured.

He gave a startled cry as Rodimus swept him up in an embrace.

“Don’t fragging apologize,” he held Minimus tight up his chestplate, “You’re the sweetest mech in the universe. I’m lucky to have you.”

 Rodimus rejoiced when Minimus, despite the strain of Rodimus' hug, responded to his touch, fingers pressing against his plating, mumbling gratefully,

“Likewise."


	76. More SG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well it's certainly been awhile :(
> 
> So, some SG Mimi/Megs smut then feels. Because it's been far too long.
> 
> For Insec :) 
> 
> Enjoy :)

"One more," Minimus cooed.

Megatron's denta clenched the bit in his mouth. He could feel the last of the inflated beads wedging along his channel towards the opening of his valve, still overstretched and weeping from the others that had come before it. Fluid dripped down onto his trembling thighs as he remained dutifully on his hands and knees, knuckles scraping the polished floor.

"I can see it," Minimus breathed, from his position behind Megatron, tugging on the string connecting the beads, Megatron feeling the familiar pressure as the bead began pushing against the rim of his valve, stretching it to capacity in a way that was strangely pleasurable despite the strain to his interface. The way his valve clenched and fluttered, hot and slick around the object, slowly pushing it out like an organic birthing an egg. He supposed that was the appeal of the idea. He couldn't say he complained despite the peculiarity of the concept, especially when a small, nimble thumb rubbed against his swollen anterior node.

Megatron bucked, wailed silently around the bit, valve shuddering in overload, bead popping free, leaving him gaping and wet, riding the high of charge until it dwindled, leaving him weakened but immensely sated.

"That was quite a show," Minimus murmured and Megatron luxuriated in fingertips softly brushing along his slick folds, "You never disappoint do you?"

Megatron felt a familiar swell of pride in his spark. Shame a thing from the past, he allowed himself to smile around the bit.

*

Later, Minimus had resumed his place at his desk. Megatron, clean, panels closed, stood, as though this were the closure of any other meeting. It was something Megatron took comfort in, the return of a sense of professionalism between them.  

"I'll see you in session I suppose," he said, by way of farewell. By now he knew he wasn't expected to linger, Minimus always swiftly falling back into work mode. His fingers were flicking dexterously over the screen of a datapad and it took him a moment to respond,

"What was that dear?" His tone was distracted but that wasn't what made Megatron tense.

It was the endearment, unexpected and baffling, troubling even. Troubling that Ambus should start to label him with the kind of affection one reserved for romantic relationships. Theirs was a strictly platonic intimacy, at least Megatron had thought.

"I.... Um..." he fumbled, core temperature rising.

Ambus glanced up, expression quizzical.

"Is something the matter?"

His obliviousness only seemed to make the matter so much worse.

"You," Megatron couldn't refrain from cringing, "You called me..."

He trailed at sight of Ambus' optics widening in realization. For a moment he looked a little sheepish, recovering with one of his warm smiles.

"Pardon me, a slip of the glossa," he said, "I assure you I didn't mean any offense."

"No I doubt you did," Megatron found himself agreeing, despite his lingering sense of discomfort.

Minimus on the other seemed happily reassured,

"Excellent," he said, "You know if anything I'm quite fond of you."

The statement, the sudden, seemingly transparent sincerity of it, made Megatron's spark lurch in its casing, though not in a necessarily pleasant way. Actually if he had to dub the emotion it was a prickling sense of fear. Fear of the implication such words, uttered truthfully by a mech who, he continually reminded himself, couldn't be trusted.

"That - in itself might be the issue," he ventured to say, causing the senator's smile to recede.

"What do you mean?" he asked, tone still gentle. Far too gentle. Megatron wished he could glimpse cold scrutiny beneath the surface. A sign of the shrewd, cunning mechanism who had elevated his _conjunx_ to power. It would made it easier to speak the truth, without the fear of actually hurting Ambus' feelings, if they were genuine feelings, which, if they were, made what he was about to say even more imperative.

"What we have is," Megatron found the inspiration to begin, "What we have is an arrangement. You, yourself called it that."

He actually looked to Ambus for confirmation, who gave something of a solemn nod.

"An arrangement," Megatron repeated for emphasis, "Not a... relationship."

He paused again to read Ambus' expression. The minibot remained silent, solemn. Megatron forced himself to summarize,

"So I think its best we exercises a degree of professionalism outside of our - activities, and refrain from using any - inappropriate terminology that may - contradict the parameters of said arrangement, and avoid any misinterpretation."

He was surprised to see Ambus' lips curve in a smile,

"Spoken like a proper politician."

Megatron wasn't sure if he liked the quiet praise in his voice or the compliment in itself.

"But of course if that will make you most comfortable," Ambus carried on, seeming to pause for effect, "Senator Megatron."

Megatron didn't like his title at the best of times but the cold, impassivity of it struck him more deeply than usual. But there was no malice in Ambus' voice, merely acquiescence. Megatron found himself grateful for the familiar benevolence in his optics.

"Thank you," he replied.

Minimus nodded and in the silence, Megatron felt a stab of awkwardness.

"Well," Ambus glanced at his datapad then back up again, "Ta ta then."

The dismissal made Megatron's tanks roil in discomfort and he chastised himself. This was good. This was what he wanted. But despite the reassurance the feeling of abandonment persisted, even as he forced out a farewell of his own and marched himself towards the door. He paused, glanced back to see if Ambus would look up to give him a final smile as he was wont to do. But Ambus remained glued to his work, and Megatron left feeling bereft and cursing himself for it.


	77. Even more SG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follow-up to previous chapter.
> 
> SG Rodi and Mimi.

Rodimus admitted (at least to himself) that he wasn't as well versed in subtlety as Minimus. The mini could mask his emotions far better than he could. At least as far as regular schmucks were concerned. Not Rodimus however, who knew him far too well to miss the slight fluctuation in his EM field as he entered their chamber, a sign the usually composed mini was faintly ruffled.  

"Okay," he drawled from the berth, "Who's da glitch who done fragged up?"

Minimus ex-vented, more in acquiescence of Rodimus' observation than anything else. He wasn't one to launch into a rant. Rodimus ranted. Minimus simply clambered up onto the berth to press against his side,

"No one who warrants any extreme form of retribution," he answered, not without a slight wistfulness in his voice, one that made Rodimus' energon boil. Because whoever paid _his_ Mimi even the tiniest bit of insult deserved to be hung upside down above the smelting pit. He drew his arm around him,

"Youse very merciful for someone so peeved," he couldn't quite contain the fondness in his voice and it stilled his own anger somewhat, "What can I do eh? Youse want me to hurt dis mech?"

Minimus tilted his helm to give him a reproachful sort of look. Primus, it was cute.

"No thank you," there was an undercurrent of warning in the voice. It made Rodimus aroused. Curious yes, like who the frag was the spikesucker Mimi was protecting, but mostly aroused. He trailed his fingers over Minimus' chassis, tilting his helm to murmur,

"Youse wanna hurt me a bit?"

Minimus' optics widened in surprise. He had such pretty blue optics. It made him look more innocent than than he was. Rodimus grinned at him.

"How 'bout it Mimi? Youse wanna give me a good floggin'? I'll take it so good for youse."

The way Minimus' optics lit up sent a veritable shiver up his backstrut, before narrowing coyly,

"That wouldn't be too indulgent of me?" he said, ever polite, as if he were asking for the last fuel cookie.

Rodimus made a scoffing noise,

"Mimi, wouldn't be offerin' if I wasn't gettin' nuthin' outta it."

Truthfully he was already painfully aroused in anticipation. If Minimus refused it would be a total letdown.

A good thing the mini was as perverse as he was.

"If you insist," he pressed a rather chipper kiss to Rodimus' lips. Rodimus watched him wriggle off the berth to fetch that whip of his ending in those nine deadly little points. He returned and gave it a experimental crack. Rodimus' panel fairly popped open at the sound.

His dentae bared in a grin.

"Do youse worst."

*

He was covered in dents by the end of it. Minimus had a powerful blow for someone so diminutive and Rodimus refused to let him go easy on him. That was the whole point of the safe word Minimus stressed upon him. The pain had been exquisite but not intolerable. Rodimus thrived on the satisfaction he was capable of withstanding anything dished out to him. Dents could be buffed out, sooner rather than later in accordance with Rodimus' vanity. In the moment they were definitely worth the adrenalin high.

Both he and Minimus were panting, cooling fans cycling heavily, Minimus' pede was still wedged on his spike, where he had ground on it and caused Rodimus to overload in the midst of being flogged. It was now smeared in his transfluid. Rodimus had a lewd vision of Minimus raising it to his mouth and demanding he lick it clean. Instead Minimus seemed to be scrutinizing his handiwork.

"I didn't go too hard on you?"

If Rodimus was the sappy sort of mech, which he told himself he _wasn't_ , the concern in Minimus' optics might have melted his spark.

"Pfft as if," he scoffed.

Minimus seemed relieved. All the same he narrowed in his optics in a feigned threat,

"Don't get too cocky," he purred and Rodimus could help the way his spike twitched underneath Minimus' pede, "You're still at my mercy."

Rodimus let out a raspy chuckle,

"Round two den?"

He rolled his hips seductively, trying not to wince at the sting of bruised plating. He was actually a little relieved as Minimus shook his helm,

"I think we've both had enough, don't you?," he said, casting the whip over his spaulder, "You've already made a mess of my pede."

He shifted off Rodimus, the latter giving a small whine of disapproval, and sat on the edge of the berth. He sub-spaced a cloth and cleaned his pede. A smile played on Rodimus' lips. Minimus' post-interface fastidiousness always amused him, especially when it was Rodimus' gunk he was cleaning off him.

"You know I never took you for a pede fetishist," Minimus threw Rodimus a somewhat sly look over his shoulder, "Though with past experience nothing should surprise me."

Rodimus gingerly assumed a casual pose, positioning his hands behind his helm,

"More of a Mimi fetistist really," he said, "A Mimist."

He grinned at his own wit. Minimus seemed to ponder the statement for a moment.

"That's actually rather sweet."

Rodimus quirked an orbital ridge,

"Eat me out?"

"Don't you want your plating seen to first?"

"Nope."

Minimus acquiesced with an amiable shrug,

"Alright then."


End file.
